©Mazatlan in October
Mimi Wolske, November 2014
Mimi Wolske-Mona Arizona™
All Rights Reserved
I love the way your fingers
have a discussion with my skin.
The sun turns and we enjoy
the welcoming languor of
a hundred indecisions
below the Tropic of Cancer.
Your arm rests on the flank of my body,
your fingers tease with silent words
where the Sea of Cortez meets the Pacific.
You say, the sun is always high here
because the earth is tilted,
and still we bask in the sun —
which doesn't seem warmer
than the sun of Arizona —
lost in the people maze
on the white sands of Mazatlan.
Impatient birds of prey, amorous and ready to devour
each other, we steal kisses that cannot quench the
thirst of our desire here in the Pearl of the Pacific.
We linger, sigh, and think
where should we walk today?
Drawn by yellow-spires,
we find ourselves at the
Basilica of the Immaculate Conception.
Blue and yellow Moorish motifs
on the outside
stand out even more
in what is called Old Town.
We enter; we're awed by the gilded,
hand-carved, baroque triple altar,
the Renaissance domes,
Mazatlan's patron saint
the Virgin of the Immaculate Conception,
and the Virgin of Guadelupe.
We say, it's something to tell
children and grandchildren.
You take my hand and we step
back into the sixteenth century
in this trope of forbidden love,
this damsel and her knight
strolling the cobblestone streets of Copala;
we stand at the foothills of the Sierra Madre —
twenty-three point five degrees North of the equator.
Your praise my eyes;I reach up and press my lips
to your smiling lips robed in the light of the setting sun.
Sharing coconut milk with strawberries
on a different soil, in a different climate,
at the northern edge of the Tropics,
we sip and appreciate
the years of shared lust
and thank God it never turned
into ashes or dust here in
the most important,
the most beautiful,
the most turbulent,
the most endangered,
and the most violent
region on our side of the world.
(drawing: Lovers Embrace by Shele Cox)