Turf

by Libertad Ansola Palazuelos
 

The imprinted sharp sole
guises misery in my backbone.
Two crossed eyebrows insinuate
a full-size mademoiselle

I’m still innocent

The thorny Hooves of the stallion
stamp along the corridor
It perseveres

kicks back, black lips
pressed against thin air
I buried it nine times
And like a cat, nine times it came back to me

I should have known
kaleidoscopic sight
persistent

I irreversibly consent, inhale
The kind-hearted
Sheik may kiss and lift the veil.

Dethroned the black boots,
The foot shrieks, misplaced

I don’t think I can do it.

IMG_4063.JPG