I reminisce and wish to get back to her.
She was free time, carefree, kind of gypsy-like.
Just one, two, three, four years ago...

I left her to search for purpose,
to build an edifice to lay
my wispy hair upon,
outside the window of a cathedral,
outside the window of a
tumbling Bolivian bus,
outside the window of a
Medellin teleferico,
outside the windows of
the crumbling concrete houses
below,
outside the window of
a drunken car; blurred cobblestone streets,
cooking asado with
my friend Jeriff,
cooking plataños alone
in a cast-iron skillet.
starting a small fire,
cooking tortillas,
spreading dulce de leche.

hearing sea turtles breathe.

pushing a motorcycle up a hill,
in the rain, for some lazy Colombian.
losing sleep under stars,
drowning in a waterfall,
drowning in the Peruvian swells,
running from a belligerent coke dealer,
escaping the shaman with drunken red eyes,
emerging from silver mines unscathed,
traversing 100km in four days,
escaping an Austrian love triangle,
leaving a loyal stray behind.

I don't have wispy hair anymore.
I left, led a boring life,
built an edifice, and watched it crumble before me.
Where is the girl I left behind?

Mamacita
Coke-bottle figures are motivation
to get close to you.
I arrive to Spain clinging Molotov
Cocktails
(it’s not Spanish but least it’ll do)
to see blossoming tulip dresses

I bend kneecaps to Barcelona, Medellin,
Buenos Aires, Santiago, Puerto Rico
Mexico City, Madrid to get
a sense of your flower-nightlife

Swallow Iquitos, hills of white
rice fields.
Conquistador I bachata-bachata
love you gyrating exoskeletons to
Reggeton