“Remember me when you are at the beach, and above all when you paint crackling things and little ashes. Oh, my little ashes! Put my name in the picture so that my name will serve for something in the world.” ~ Federico García Lorca

                                    *

It is ironic, Salvador, because
I am afraid of many things in the world and
When I am with you,
I feel safe,
Yet your company is the one thing
I fear most.
I know that I love and need you
More than you will ever love and
Need me, that
One day you will be free
With another woman and I will be
Left paying for my sins against God. And
My rights against the state.

I thought that our love would have
No limits; you
Said that I am a Christian storm but
I know that you can brave this tempest and
Save me from myself.

I am a poet, Salvador, but
Whenever I sit down to write a poem about you,
Or even just how I feel about you,
I am unable to because
I am lost for words.
I speak only of what you and
Your paintings tell me;
I can no longer express myself.  

I remember the beach.
We would lie there for hours-
On its sand we would kiss not just with our lips but
With our eyes. The
Water will miss our visits;
Its body seldom taken by another,
As opposed to being engulfed by
Two artistic lovers.
Having received my seaside medicine
(Via touch of tongue
And word of hand)
I have come to the realisation that
You have, in fact,
Poisoned me.
I shall never be cured now.

The smoke from silent guns has risen,
I hold one in my hand.
Yet I am severed from the call
In a fight against myself.
A conflict to choose between
God and you.
I hear you say you are one and the same.
That, I cannot stand.

My focus is distorted.
Distracted. Abstracted.
We are too many miles apart;
You have replaced my words with your art,
You have broken
My heart.

Where is your warmth now, Salvador?
I am alone by the sea trembling with the cold
That you swore I would never feel again.
Winter will devour me as a
Result of your failing to
Relight the fire that is supposed to
Ignite me.
You promised me life with a portrait machine
But in all honesty
What I want to be
Promised with,
Oh, Salvador Dalí,
Is your faith, in me.