No mas amor
No mas amor
The drunkest man at the Trujillo beach bar had learned to love the silence.
Now he enjoyed the Honduras rum and the empty sea.
Once he was the bravest man, Hemingway whiskey and too much sorrow had taught him. Love can live and love can die. Men love war over kindness and we will get old. We cannot stop time.
The prettiest gal in Trujillo held his hands and she sang songs of love to him.
“No mas amor,
We are just like the sea,
rowing and dancing for the sun and the clouds.
Love can be sweet,
love can be so heavy,
we must become like the sand,
allow the waves to caress us,
make us feel alive.
We must breathe in the sea,
be brave, wild, loco and free.”
The poet asked the beautiful girl,
you are young, so wise and you make me smile.
Why do you waste time with a old man?
She laughed at his words and she told him,
“Poet are ageless, they know rhyme and song.
They bleed words to paper,
making us woman endless beauties and never forgotten.
Woman are great storms to them. Maybe I am your greatest dance in the storm?”
The poet laughed at her words and he whispered to her.
“She gave me a hint of a smile,
she gave me a hint of a kiss.
Her skin of lavender made my mind wander to the sweetest nights,
where lovers intertwine wishes and needs.
I asked her name and she told me.
My name is April,
names for rebirth and everlasting hope.
I told her,
if we taste the sea,
the salt taste is bitterness and sorrow.
No mas amor for a sinking ship man my pretty lady.”
She brought his face into her breasts,
held him tightly and she sang to him.
“We need to caress the sand with our feet and
we must pray to the nightly moon for one more day
to love and to dance.
We may know the ending before the beginning,
we may learn, once strangers can save each other.
You and I,
we have the Trijillo bay, good drink and no place to be.
Maybe the last grasp at a miracle,
maybe love or close enough.
I am here and you cannot escape my embrace.”
The poet listen to her heat beat and he whispered.
Thank you kind lady.