Dolces Nientes

Dolce.

Yeah, I know.

I was born sweet.

The very blood in my veins,

tears in my eyes,

marrow in my bones-

dolce.

My heart opens up wide as the wilderness night sky

in churches with organs sounding,

filling the whole cavernous space,

on adventures beyond what’s trimmed and green,

but not here.

No dolce-no.

I don’t speak your language, sorry.

But really, you don’t speak mine.

Mine is ancient and wild and raw.

But sometimes, a lot of times, I can hear you.

I’m sweet-

Dolce.

Keep talking, bambino. Don’t ever stop.

Fill my heart with sweet nothings,

if only to keep the monsters at bay.

July 10, 2013