Matador
The afternoon light froze the palms of the matador, his legs turned rubbery when his crystallized blood decorated the left horn of the black bull
—Want to find someone else? Tell me, lover-boy, is this what you want?
Who can take away all the sorrow and hide it from the spectators’ hearts? The matador laid his head on the softened sand like on a pillow, and the goring dream of his youth released his sultry bones back to the elements
— You can do that at any time, but don’t dare bring her to this house
Can the dead matador defy Fate and grace my late years with its deserving invincibility? Under the poplars, where my first tears fell, I cast my dream as the sweat trickles down my eyebrows and moistens the decadence of my life
—I wish I could break free from my fear and run away as fast as I can
Can the matador who defied his death grace me with his courage when the bull gored his groin?
—I can do this, I know it. It is just a matter of time
Libros Libertad 