The White Woman At Sunset Boulevard
she was the woman who left me.
She hands me the back of her bones.
she does not bother looking anymore at the past.
she hates me. she detests
every word that i say.
she will not answer my call.
She says i am a liar and had always been lying to her.
The dirt in my arms are terrible, she says, these arms
that used to hold her too tightly that she cannot breathe
are broken branches of the rotten tree.
She walks away towards the dark side of the sunset boulevard, that place unreachable by the night lights. Beyond the hold of my arms, beyond the grasp of my lips.
she already loosened all the screws and bolts of the bicycle
that we used to ride together every afternoon on this sunset boulevard.
all the parts are scattered near the shore of the sea.
The waves reached them and they all get too rusty.
She does not talk to me anymore, this white woman at sunset boulevard.
She walks fast.
She runs.
Her eyes sharp, and flaming with anger against the rage of the dark,
away from the city lights, away from my lies, away from the
warmth of my whisper.
I am her wrath.
I am the source and cause of her anger.
Her pains, her sorrows for years and years when i left her
without leaving any word.
When my name was finally eaten by the waves of the sea in
sunset boulevard. When she drowned.