Short Film

Scene:

I wished for these minutes to be frozen,
Paused-while-in-motion, congealed, kept eternally intact,
Like a slow-mute-black and white movie in constant repetition,
I, surrounded by your arms: an eternal art installation.

You sparked a procession within me,
All’the sudden… I remembered,
I recalled that which I did not care to forget,
Just like when I would memorize them old romantic Mexican movies grandpa used to watch,
I replayed every dialogue thinking that one day,
I would ride away into the horizon on top of a white horse locked into Pedro Infante’s arms.

Short film:
One which owns no plot,
No cathartic ending or even a narrative of love,
Random flicker of time,
Broken words and missed flights.

I apologize; I tend to arrive late to everything,
Including your life,
My bad.

Short film:
That long lost sense of belonging,
A plant with dumpy roots searching desperately for soil.
Somehow you triggered and meshed some recollections,
You know…
I have not felt someone caressing my mind at the same time as they desire my flesh.
Lost in lust: A short scene between your legs,
A brief script amongst our lips.

Melting glacier within
Resting ***** face
And cut…