Spain by Night

‘circling the moon while I breathe a sigh…’

Bonita, Bonita,
So you call me. Glances at me,
With teasing lips.

Walking the street,
The old one-two, whistling
The tune of seduction.

Scent of honey lingers in your
Words, taste of tobacco
In your kisses.

Your fingertips grazing my spine,
I stumble under your wicked spell,
And float into the suffocating night.

You carve my contour into the heavy air,
Circling the moon while I breathe a sigh…

Bonita, Bonita,
Why are you crying?
Don’t you let the wicked night dampen your soul.

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