Here are my parents making an appearance.
Now that they're dead, they make appearances whenever they wish.
So here they are.
"Romantic Figures."
"I dream my broken dolls--" excuse me.
"I dream my broken dolls home to Miami Beach.
He's leaving for his second round
of card playing for the day.
She's dressed him in a black polo
shirt and matching slacks--
stylish, if funereal.
About his winning hand and her helping hand, pink and melon
oleanders, married 50 years, thinking they've been poisoned.
I jump sweating into Mirabello Bay, quivering glass
hotels on the water.
Quivering glass.
We pat about naked in the imaginary world carrying
liquid in our sieves.
What time is it?
400 kisses o'clock.
After 12 hours of sleep, Valentina probably
will be girly-licious.
She's like making love in the afternoon with rose crystal.
Your mouth warms into pink sugar.
Granted, the romantic figure for love is not the simile.
It's the paradox that she wakes herself snoring."