Delsa López. Cuba.

 No brake

… We are one body, between the sweat, the sheets, the ecstasy.

        (Armando Pérez González)

Riding and your eyes on mine

put, the weeds turned into flowers.

The end of the race were rivers

that bathed my body in jets.

Looks like whips gave way

to a rider without brakes in his career,

who made his sighs, with a bow,

woven with spring honey.

The spur that encourages my flanks

it won't let me slow down. Can you

divert your pupils from mine

and stop spurring me on? ...

hide the deluge on my walls?

The river grows in the bed… it grows by the seas!