When I was a Hidalga shadow
in the glow of cigarettes,
my kisses were a contra tiempo,
all carmine and castanets.
Might you consider a different title for this one? As it stands, it’s a give-away for the last line and that makes it fall flat.
It doesn’t really matter in the case of a poem this short (short poetry is the medium for this blog). This is one of a set of poems specifically written on subjects dictated by readers. The title is the title, and that’s that, whether or not the words are in the poem. Like all the poems here it is – near as makes no difference – a daily ‘freewrite’, so it’s rather like the menu at a fast food diner, inasmuch as you don’t get to change it.
Irresistible combination of words.
I don’t understand all of this but I love the word magic and the rhymes
That’s all right, I don’t understand all of it either.
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