Judas Spoke....

I remember how you bit your lip

As Judas spoke.

Still you boarded that one way ship.

Leaving behind all the smoldering smoke.

How long before your soul began to rot?

Could you smell the decay day to day?

At what price was your love bought?

To the highest bitter or whoever would pay?

A Good Time had by All

They all loved me and I loved them too.

I know because we said and wrote and screamed

Those filthy words to each other.

Them with their inviting smiles and my mother’s eyes

And proud breasts and needy lips and bashful navels

And eager wet spots and friendly thighs and boring lives

And, oh yes, their husbands.

Can’t forget them, they did not.

Each of them just like a new world

Wanting to be explored.

And me with my secret and my anger and inadequate

Emotional intellect and my smile and hungry heart and

Youth and rigid compass and my shame and my eagerness

And soft hands and homeless soul.

We’d find each other from time to time.

They’d ask to dance so we’d find a cozy little place.

Rub our hips together and sway with the beat.

They’d ask for a good time and I’d order

Some up and we’d drink and laugh and sometimes cry.

They’d ask for tomorrow and I’d give them tomorrow.

They’d ask to make love in the rain and I’d

Place their ankles on my shoulders and fuck them

On the hood of their husband’s car.

They’d ask for a kiss and I’d turn away.

They’d ask about my secret and I’d lie.

They’d run to me and I’d push away.

The minutes of passion flowed from one to another.

The seconds of tenderness never gave fruit.

I’d ask them to forget their husbands.

They smiled so reassuringly and walked

Away without making a sound.

My secret stayed with me and my anger

Grew and my heart learned to listen for the

Sound of snakes slithering around me.

May 21, 2006 Copyright Salvador Cordova

The Weight of Being

When the rain finally fell, she arrived much like a Diva strolling down a red carpet. Welcome by all but ignoring most and moving on. Large, quarter-sized drops landed randomly on and about them, too sporadic and distant to truly wet anything. Just enough to give their hope one more drink. What a horrible thing hope is, forever tempting that which we desire most.

Everyone waited so long for this reprieve. Relief from their droning, smoldering, desiccated existence in this renovated desert. Their eyes followed the clouds, watching them desolately waltz away. Like their lives, already spent.

They sat on the grass in the front yard of their home. A by the book, Wright inspired single-level structure just like all the others in their neighborhood. Older than either of them, but not by much. Their proximity enough to avoid questions from their children, friends or nosy neighbors. Always staying far enough to avoid each other. Out of reach, the way she wanted things. The children, a boy and a girl, played in the rear of the house. They could hear the pair chasing, laughing, fighting then laughing again. Why does the ability to retain and expand anger and hate increase with each dying second of childhood?

For sixteen days they idly watched as their eleven years together evaporated and drifted into that black hole of dead, yet unfinished love. Jacob sat with his knees pulled to his chest, arms resting on them, chin on his forearms. His dark brown skin shone with a warm sheet of sweat. Much like a drowning man, Jacob swallowed his fair share of hope that he could find a path towards redemption and reconciliation and most of all, forgiveness.

Hotel Room

She hid herself in his arms,

In the warmth and black of his chest.

And he held her like holding a dream,

Something beyond him.

Checkout time was noon,

Her husband expected her soon.

But for a moment she was his and him hers.

They knew everything ahead

would be less than what they held then.

He didn't see her cry.

She didn't see him die.

She did her make up

As he played with the key.

He dropped it as her phone rang.

I love you and I'll be there soon,

He heard her say as he left the room.

Walking out on her,

Walking out on the devil in his bed.

Copyright 2008 Salvador Cordova

Corner coffee shop

And to think years ago you didn't even know I existed. I would ride my bicycle every morning by the window of the corner coffee shop just to watch you take one maybe two sips of the Italian blend coffee you now make me drive 20 minutes out of my way twice a week to buy for you. I watched him hold my dream. I watched him ignore you, then lose you. The progression from sitting closely like lovers to sitting across the table like marriage to eventually a large booth like business with only the cold of regret and loneliness between the both of you.The morning he wasn't there I stopped what I thought was right in front of you and watched you sip an entire cup of coffee. Alone. What a novice, a loser I was then. You didn't even know I existed. Still, as I watched your lips moisten with the heat of the coffee then, I knew you were my sole existence.

copyright 2015 Salvador Cordova