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Three Moments.

For Lord Flaca 
 The frosty light sketches, against the sun, my body on the yellow wall.
There are nostalgic voices that the cat eats from the window. Voices.
Only whispered voices beneath the fan.
Suddenly, time's logic dies and we draw the curtain to avoid the
You smell like everything I want, you say Then the muchacha de ojos
 hiding under my nails comes back to me.
There's no winning against the incapacity of distance, no
exceptions. Since I found you every night is blue. 
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Title Annotation:A Portfolio of Panamanian Poets: Poems
Author:Alzamora-Rivera, Mar
Publication:Black Renaissance/Renaissance Noire
Article Type:Poem
Date:Sep 22, 2015
Previous Article:Reveil.
Next Article:Eyes Looking Seaward.

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