Ah Consuela! Invoking vast vistas for visions of green Spanish eyes,
I discern them again where she left me back then,
as we kissed when she parted, my friend.
Through those ruins I tread towards the footlights, now dead,
where I’ll muse as her shadows ascend.
.
.
Ah Consuela! I’m watching, she teases the mirror with green Spanish eyes;
her serape entangles her brooches and bangles
like lace on the sorcerer’s looms,
and her cape of the night, she drapes tight to excite,
and her fan is embellished with plumes.
Ah Consuela! I’m watching as spectators savour her green Spanish eyes;
taming wild concertinas, the dark ballerina
performs on the music hall stage,
but she shies from the sound of ovation unbound
like a timorous bird in a cage.
Ah Consuela! I’m watching, she quickens the pit with her green Spanish eyes;
as the cymbals shake, clashing, the floodlights wake, flashing,
igniting the wild fireflies,
and the piccolo piper’s inviting the vipers
to coil neath the cold caldron skies.
Ah Consuela! I’m watching the shimmering shadows in green Spanish eyes
as I rise from my chair and proceed to the stair
with a hesitant sip of my wine.
Though she doesn’t deny me, she wanders right by me
with neither a look nor a sign.
Ah Consuela! I’m watching, she looks to the stage with her green Spanish eyes,
(for her senses scoff, scorning the biblical warning
of kisses of Judas that sting,
with her pierced ears defeating the echoes repeating)
and smiles at the magpie that sings.
Ah Consuela! I’m watching faint embers a’ stir in her green Spanish eyes,
for a soft spoken stranger enveloping danger
has captured the rhyme in the room
as he slips into sight through a crack in the night
midst the breath of her heavy perfume.
Ah Consuela! I’m watching, she gauges his guise through her green Spanish eyes
– from his gypsy-like mane, to his diamond stud cane,
to the raven engraved on his vest –
for a faraway form, a tempestuous storm,
lurks and heaves neath the cleav’e of her *******.
Ah Consuela! I’m watching the caravels cruising her green Spanish eyes;
with the castanets clacking like ancient masts cracking
he whips ’round his cloak with a ****
and without sacrificing, at mien so enticing,
she floats with her face facing his.
Ah Consuela! I’m watching the vertigo veiling her green Spanish eyes,
while the drumbeat pounds, droning, the rhythm sounds, moaning,
of jungles Jamaican entwined
in the valleys concealing the vineyards revealing
the vaults in the caves of her mind.
Ah Consuela! I’m watching life’s carnivals call to her green Spanish eyes,
and with paused palpitations the tom-tom temptations
come taunting her tremulous feet
with her toe tips a’ tingle while jute boxes jingle
for jesters that jive on the street.
Ah Consuela! I’m watching, she rides ocean tides in her green Spanish eyes,
and her silhouette’s travelling on ripples unravelling
and shaking the shipwracking shores,
as she strides from the light to the black cauldron night
through the candlelit cabaret doors.
Ah Consuela! I’m watching, she dances till dawn flashing green Spanish eyes,
with her movements adorning a trickle of morning
as sipped by the mouth of the moon,
while her tresses twirl, shaming the filaments flaming
that flow from the sun’s oval spoon.
Ah Consuela! I’m watching, she masks for a moment her green Spanish eyes.
Then the magpie that sings ceases preening her wings
and descends as a lean bird of prey –
as she flutters her ’lashes and laughs in broad splashes,
his narrowing eyes start to stray.
Ah Consuela! I’m watching fey carousels spin in her green Spanish eyes,
and the porcelain ponies and leprechaun cronies
race, reaching for gold and such things,
even being reminded that only the blinded
are fooled by the brass in the rings.
Ah Consuela! I’m watching, she shepherds the shadows with green Spanish eyes,
but as evening sinks, ebbing, the skyline climbs, webbing,
and weaves through the temples of stone,
while the nightingales sing of a kiss on the wing
in the depths of the dunes all alone.
Ah Consuela! I’m watching the music and magic in green Spanish eyes,
as she dances enchanted, while firmly implanted
in tugs of his turbulent arms,
till he cuts through the strings, tames the magpie that sings,
and seduces once more with his charms.
Ah Consuela! I’m watching, the citadel steams in her green Spanish eyes,
but behind the dark curtain the savants seem certain
that nothing and no one exists,
and though vapours look vacant, the vagabond vagrants
remain within mythical mists.
Ah Consuela! I’m watching as lightning at midnight in green Spanish eyes
kindles cracks within crystals like flashes from pistols
residing inside of the gloom
as it hovers above us betraying a dove as
she flees from the fountain of doom.
Ah Consuela! I’m watching, distilling despair in her green Spanish eyes,
and the bitterness stings like the snap of the strings
when a mystical mandolin sighs
as the vampire shades **** the life from charades
neath the resinous residue skies.
Ah Consuela! I’m watching, she looks to the ledge with her green Spanish eyes,
for the terrace hangs high and she’s thinking to fly
and abandon fate’s merry-go-round.
At the edge I perceive her and rush to retrieve her –
she stumbles, falls far to the ground.
Ah Consuela! I’m watching the sparkles a’ spilling from green Spanish eyes.
As I peer from the railing, with evening exhaling,
I cry out a lover’s lament –
there she lies midst the crowd with her spirit unbowed,
but her body’s all broken and bent.
Ah Consuela! I’m watching, she beckons me hither with green Spanish eyes,
and I’m slightly amazed being snared in her gaze
and a’ swirl in a hurricane way,
but the seconds are slipping, my courage is dripping,
the moment is bleeding away.
Ah Consuela! I touch her - she weeps tender tears from her green Spanish eyes;
as the breezes cease blowing, her essence leaves, flowing,
in streams neath the ambient light,
and the droplets drip swarming, so silent, yet warming,
like rain in a midsummer night.
Ah Consuela! I hold her, am hushed by the hints in her green Spanish eyes,
while her whispers are breathing the breaths of the seething
electrical skeletal winds,
and the words paint the poems that rivers a’ slowin’
reveal where the waterfall ends.
Ah Consuela! I’m fading in fires a’ flicker in green Spanish eyes,
as she plays back the past, she abandons and casts
away matters that no longer mend.
.
.
And she reached out instead, as she lifted her head,
and we kissed as she parted, my friend.
.
.
.
Ah Consuela! I’m tangled, entombed, trapped in tales of your green Spanish eyes,
in forsaken cantinas beyond the arenas
where night-time illusions once flowed,
for the ash neath my shoulder still throbs as it smoulders
some place near the end of the road.