I read poems in Spanish
to prepare myself for singing
el viajero, part man, part moon
he writes me like a prophet writes a girl
I choose my words carefully
maybe he could teach me something
when I tell her she says
'maybe love teaches us nothing'
and she wonders
why I confuse my need for passion
with the hunger to learn
if I am so in need of wisdom
why don't I spend time at libraries
between the lines of books
instead of searching between his arms?
but I don't crave books
I crave his hands
"el viajero, I am tired,
I sleep and sleep and only awake when I dream of you"
my friend tells me
to sleep all I want
because one day I will wake anyways
"rest and get back to life", she says
"things are great out here"
