two different poems in the works

el indio viene con su nopal
curando su dolor
con un trago de mezcal
quiere olvidar
se ha escapado la felicidad
soledad viene
me toma de la mano
en la madrugada.


i can imagine the passion
smell her fragrance
leaving its permanent mark
on my marred pysche
she has left me in a mess
ball of raw nerves

still that fragrance lingers
long after she's gone
playing with my mind
torturing me
thinking of the passion
it can be released

give me a chance