Of Buenos Aires

The sun will rise first upon her breasts
and only later will I taste its warmth
as she says, “Mi campo de mi zapatos,”
and I kiss the Argentina of her toes.
She’ll yawn at my kisses, shadowed in light
for only Maria Caballeros of Buenos Aires
will share with me the setting sun,
gaze upon its colors, feel the fleeting warmth,
taste its final rays, smell its gentle descent
and listen to the daylight’s final gasps
as it struggles to stave off the night
soaking us in a brilliant cloak.

Maria will reach to my unleavened face,
softy call me, “Jaime,” and he’ll respond
to the gentle fingers of her passion
becoming prey to her Mapuche Kalku
as she hovers above me, just beyond my reach –
well, not really hovering – she’ll stand above me,
her timberwolf toenails brightly glistening
as she steps upon my Rosario chest:
a glowing Argentina lighting the night.