Please show me your real face

Please show me your real face…

(Thank you dear Mamen An. For giving me reasons to write.)

I became the Austin City dark poet in 1993. I would advice the young writers and do minor edit on their work. Many of the college kids would seek advice and we would drink the Johnnie  Walker and the coldest beer we could find. They would find me on Friday night at the jazz club early. Three dollars Long Island ice teas till 9pm and the the coolest jazz being played. I felt like the oldest man in Austin. The pretty college girl name Sylvia would ask me. Why are you alone? A handsome soldier. Here in Austin, ain’t allowed. This is a Texas sin. No-one should be alone on a Friday night in Austin. Dear Sylvia, a blond hair pretty robust Texas girls eyed me like a science experiment. She wrote the sweetest poetry and I asked her. Please pretty lady. Wrote me a poem please darling. She gave me the Devil’s smile and she asked. What kind of poetry do you need. I told her. A poem about sin, gin and the prettiest lady I can see. Make me believe. Love is gold and forever can be. She wrote into her journal.

“I told my lover, I want more love letters,

more hellos and less goodbyes.

Did you forget me, I tried to forget you.

The damn Johnny Walker whiskey whispered to me. Your name.

Please show me your face, please take-off your damn fake smile, stripped off the pretty face, you show.

I want the ugly face. I want those liar’s eyes.

Damn those hazel eyes that turned gray, when the jazz songs are good and the whiskey songs kicked in.

In my dreams, you and I.

We got bare-ass, drank the tequila till we couldn’t no-more.

We danced nude on the patio for the three am moon and we told the night sky.

 leave us alone, leave us be in our self made utopia of madness.

I was your hoodoo gal, making you,

want and need more, making you beg for mercy before the last kiss given.

I want silk and lace night where  we taste skin and we bleed into each other wounds.

I can be sugar and everything nice,

I can be your rage and I need to be your poetry.

Let’s raise our hands so high and we can try to touch the sky.

Tell the half-moon, the liar’s moon.

We want to live and die in each other arms.

Let’s play show and tell.

I will show you my secret places and I want you to,

break me into a thousand pieces and slowly put my yearning skin back together again.

Just a nibble dear poet, just a game of kiss and touch.

Where lover’s go, and only the night can see them.

We have murdered love and now we want more.

We are just beggars, living on a wish and a prayer.”

She gave me the poem and she made me smile. I told her. This is poetry dear Sylvia. You made me believe in heaven and hell. Is the poem for someone special my pretty lady. Her eyes of blue looked deeply in my eyes and she whispered. You love the pain, the suffering. You want to laid down and die. Not tonight, An Austin night, the jazz is good and I feel lonely. You can drink yourself till you don’t give a damn or take me dancing. You must decide dear soldier?

I looked at her. Her Summer dress, showing tempting shoulders and her strong tan legs, as long as highway 35,tempted my sleeping mind. I told her. Do you want to awake the dead? Maybe somethings need to stay dead?

She smiled and she brought me closer. She whispered. Please honey, dear, baby. Show me your real face and let’s me brave.

Dancing Coyote