Monday, November 3, 2014

Mim-Mona Romantic Love Poetry: Mazatlan in October

©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)

Mimi-Mona Poetry: Don't Expect Us to be Sane, We're too Worn Out from Our Passion

©Don't Expect Us to be Sane, We're too Worn Out from Our Passion
Mimi Wolske, November 2014
Mimi Wolske-Mona Arizona™
All Rights Reserved 



I feel like I'm the hero in some retro movie
it's been so long on the other side
we will always have our lies
they will always have our lies

It's our life, this is our celluloid moment, my love
I've had no time to paint this place
sacrifice and living lies
they will always have our lies

Life's a mystery and there are no explanations
I'm so tired and it's all in my head
once we cried for dung and lies
they will always have our lies

You painted me with Henry Miller's watercolor
so I wrote you into my novel
sangria, pepsi, and lies
they will always have our lies

We can't fool each other as much as they'd like
we've more than a literate passion
never tell each other lies
they will always have our lies



Mimi-Mona Love Poetry: Hunting Your Lost Face

©Hunting Your Lost Face
Mimi Wolske, November 2014
Mimi Wolske-Mona Arizona™
All Rights Reserve


Green police said
nice
ambiance four
reading

Don't knock me
off
of my bike trick
or treat

Word problems flow
tears
harmonious 
roadblocks

Super verdict
my
shampoo boy
is lost

Tomorrow we
cry
today all love's
hunting

Flowing my tears
gone
terminator
of lust

Nothing lacking
blues
sky scraping clouds
sinking

The house of yes
it's
musical slow
motion

Hunting your lost
face
every other
freckle

Sharing your mouth
not
forgotten be
fondling

Shine you inside
out
like a lover's
package

How long can you
go
welcome, love Love,
you're back

Please go lower
now
another go 'round
merry