A Book of Portraits

I want to take your picture
I want to guide your eye
I want to love you deeply
I never want to die

Let’s run out of the city
Let’s run far from the sun
Into the darkness of each other
Into the void where we are one

I wake up in her room around 8 am on Saturday.

I quietly get up, and step out to get a bottle of water from the fridge. The bright morning light immediately washes over the hangover that’s brewing, and makes clear the taste of lipstick and cigarettes.

The view from the room looks out over most of the small cities in the Arroyo, and the world seems to stand still. Her dog sleeps peacefully in the corner, in a quiet patch of darkness.

I step back into the room.

She tosses and turns over, facing the wall.

“Close the door babe, yeah?”

When we both get up again, we play around and laugh and listen to Oldies, but then, slowly, there’s a transition. We start going over an ever increasing list of the previous nights bad decisions.

“I don’t want to fuck this up,” she says while we’re laying down in bed, her fingers playing with my hair.

“Neither do I.”

“So what do we do?”

“I don’t know,” I say. “I have no fucking clue.”

The house begins to get warm, so we each shower up, and then head out to La Chuperia, listening to The Band and Muddy Waters on the way.

We have Micheladas and tacos that do a good job of clearing up the bad feelings, and when we head back to her place, we have sex again.

While watching some baseball, we drink some tequila and chase it with the sweetest limes that I have ever had, and I never want to leave, but we both have to go.

We have a smoke out on the patio, and take in the view. We are both quietly preparing for the rest of the day.

“How are we going to make this work?” she says.

“I guess we’re both going to have to be ok with lying and deceit,” I say.

A future sense of wonder glistens in her eye, and then I kiss her.


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