Here, in Mexico walking the bright foreign streets,
Memorizing the ways your lips shape each of your thousand smiles.
Now, walking on the public beach among the throngs of sun-bathers,
Wind and waves lending a privacy to our walk , your voice and the wind are one, your presence pounding over me again and again, cleansing and smoothing.
Here, watching the flickering images of a dry, barren journey across desolate landscapes,
The light playing tricks in your eyes, the moistness of your breathe, the smell of your hair, the warmth of your skin.
Now, walking through hot, jungle paths,
The lushness of your voice, your exotic sway, a dark mystery not to be solved, but to softly astonish.