Poems from Dora Figueroa
Her skin smelled like soaked rosemary in morning’s dew;
It was so intoxicating than no one could say adieu.
Her charcoal black curly hair...
His Eyes,
Are what burns her skin.
Her Lips,
Are what makes him grin.
Her cry,
Is what makes him go faster,
His arms,
Is what made him her...
We come out of the womb crying,
yelling with all the strength our lungs can muster,
only to be heard by all the souls present in the room...
The sun sets and night falls,
As she walks a l o n e.
The lights flicker when she stalls,
As she walks a l o n e.
Her steps quicken and...
Water; I was raised to love it,
but little by little I grew to hate it.
Maybe it was his burning stare
that evaporated any chance for me...