Changing Seasonsby Romina Ramos In a city where every day is a miserableDecember evening, she is July. She does to mewhat summer does to strawberry fields. She is hot coffee on a crisp autumn morning,with each calculated sip first Ulysses then Morphosand Monarchs form a kaleidoscope inside me. She is spring because her laugh is… Continue reading Changing Seasons
Delayed We’ll get the 16:22 Hazel Grove service,and we’ll get off at Piccadilly station. The train will be delayed by 17 minutesbut we won’t notice because our eyes will be lost in conversation. I will sipfrom my coffee and we’ll share a cigarette and by the time the train arriveswe’ll have seen each other naked.
The Starry Night after Van Gogh It haunts me, the starsyellow eyes peering behind curling clouds, like wild wavesfoaming in my dreams. I wake on the edge, the precipiceof sleep. I turn to the moon for strength but through itsteeth you can hear the sneer. ‘Jump’ whispered in winds.
You were temptationin a tight red dress, the shotof tequila that pushedme over the edge. You were prohibitionon my tongue, secrecycutting through the airlike stale perfume. Youwere cool silk on my skin. You were an island on a treasure map.I meant all that I said butI had to search for the gold.