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 Jan 2018 Marco Benitez
Tsunami
Maybe the way the curve of your spine fits into me is an indication
of how the earth meets the sea.
Frothing, frigid and free

Maybe the way our lips convene is an illustration
of a star being born
Colliding, rising, expanding
With every breath we whisper to each other
the wind caresses the mountains in such delicate manners

Maybe the way our eyes meet
searching for a long lost landmark
{Home at last,
or at least until tomorrow}
reveal the discovery of deeper mysteries
Cold, comforting, coalescent

Maybe the simplest brush of skin
brings earthquakes to our veins
Seeped with unspoken words
warmth and peril rolled in one

Maybe, just maybe, the first ****** between two lovers
is the modern tsunami,
a flood of pleasure, teeming with emotions and laughter

The rain that lulls us to sleep
is the same as the water that cascades down cracks and cliffs
Racing to meet her soulmate,
Salt water
Fresh water
Two hearts beat in solidarity
Melting one into the other
Tongue on tongue
Fingertip to fingertip

Maybe the way we started is the way we end,
with nothing but empty space and deafening silence.
You are a novel
gathering dust on my shelf
but not because I don’t want to read
but because I’m afraid
to turn the page,
afraid of how you’ll end
In 2 minutes i need to finish this poem
Because it's almost1 30 and i need one free hour exactly before class
Can you see the hidden agenda?
was i too open
*******
can you experience that 4 in 1 go?
Its simple mathematics
#2
Exaggeration is a writer’s best friend,
aside from a paper and pen.

If it’s a only a small river,
we see a massive sea
and when they turn around,
we watch them leave.
There is one cloud
but we see the whole sky,
they say hellos and
we only hear that one goodbye.

Exaggeration is a writer’s best friend,
we don't notice beginnings, we write of the end.
“Fairy, oh fairy, sing us a song!”

“Of what, my friends? We don’t have long.”

“Of the imp who longed to dance,
Who went astray
Who had a chance,
But had it taken away.”

“Ah, you speak of Mela, the imp with a dream.
She faded away before she was ever seen.

For the fairies ruled the lands,
And no imp could rise to a position of power,
Of grace,
Or of importance.

When Mela longed to dance, she was denied,
The right to be free was so close,
Yet so far.

She struck a deal with the Fairy Elder,
Promised him a year of service,
Of solitude and pain,
In exchange for a chance to dance.

The Elder agreed but secretly plotted,
He worked in secret and was never spotted.

He sent a young fairy to harm the imp,
To keep her from dancing,
To give her a limp.

When the time came to dance,
The fairy worked its magic.
It broke the imp’s wings
Which was something quite tragic.

The imp tried to dance but alas,
The time was gone.
She couldn’t do anything but sing a sad song,

Of the troubles she went through,
Of the pain that was caused.

Of the way she struggled just to be denied the chance of her lifetime.

So now I tell this story,
To you fairy boys and fairy girls,
Of an imp who dared to dream,
And of the fairies who were selfish enough to take it from her.”
 Jan 2018 Marco Benitez
China
pain
 Jan 2018 Marco Benitez
China
any pain
in my body
is so much more
bearable
when it comes from
you.
15.01.17
little dark girl with
kind eyes
when it comes time to
use the knife
I won't flinch and
i won't blame
you,
as I drive along the shore alone
as the palms wave,
the ugly heavy palms,
as the living does not arrive
as the dead do not leave,
i won't blame you,
instead
i will remember the kisses
our lips raw with love
and how you gave me
everything you had
and how I
offered you what was left of
me,
and I will remember your small room
the feel of you
the light in the window
your records
your books
our morning coffee
our noons our nights
our bodies spilled together
sleeping
the tiny flowing currents
immediate and forever
your leg my leg
your arm my arm
your smile and the warmth
of you
who made me laugh
again.
little dark girl with kind eyes
you have no
knife. the knife is
mine and i won't use it
yet.
Its eyes are starlight,
Its scales are flames,

Its breath is life,
Its claws are death,

Its wings are the wind that blows through the night
Its roar is the thunder whenever it takes flight

It's there for all to see,
And yet none enjoy,

It governs our skies,
Keeps us safe and warm,

It brings us the food
We rely solely upon,

It calms the waves,
It stirs up the air,

It's there for all to see,
Yet none seem to care,


It's growing weaker
With each passing day

Its breath has gone shallow,
It can't lift its head,

Instead of helping
We let it struggle instead

The poor, poor dragon,
Alone till the end,

We cared too little,

And too much,

And now it's dead
Treat our atmosphere with respect before we die plz

— The End —