We had the month of May, once.
Pretty gal from Italy told him by the Monterey Bay,
the pipe dream poet,
he isn’t poetry,
he isn’t love,
he is cursed,
cursed to live in dead memories and places.
She caressed his hair, kissed his lips and she whispered.
We must drink the good alcohol,
we must fall drunk in love.
Love shouldn’t be shackle chains of heavy burden,
should be the most beautiful days we know.
He told Alexandra,
beautiful lady, kind lady.
When I look into those coffee brown eyes,
hear the sweetness of your voice.
You make me believe,
love is near,
He smelled the fragrant of flowers in her hair and skin.
He told her, you have made my days of May.
Wonderful, warm and sweet.
He watched her take-off her shoes and
she danced with the sea.
He knew, dear Alexandra,
loved wanderlust, loved the sea, loved the song and
she was the free wind.
Just a May-day wish,
blessing him for a time.
He joined her in the dance near the Pacific,
the 3 am moon blessed them and he told her.
Thank you my pretty lady,
thank you for teaching me,
honored love is seconds, hours and days wrapped in the sweetness of the
kindness of love caress.
Love cannot be owned, must be our sweetest days and nights.
We cannot own the wind or control the sea.
Dancing Coyote