by Robert Santellana Acosta
With fresh washed hands,
Pulls my ear,
Dancing in my mind,
Kissing, caressing my hands,
Loving, eating, bathing with me,
Guarding while I sleep.
Men forget to fight for you,
To beg you every day for love,
It could have been one wrong word,
Jealousies unseen, actions not taken.
Until our eyes are clear,
And the room is quiet and cold,
The real emptiness of the world appears,
When Erato abandons us.