Th

Mom



He tried not to kiss Che Guevara on the right shoulder.
He looked at him with contempt — too timid.
Argentinian Ernesto, rogue, Minister, and just Th
Was only one of five of her favorite tattoos.
In the emerald green eyes flickered living fire,
yellowish and restless as a caged tiger.
He loved her twenty-three year old, crazy, naked,
with a perfectly elastic body the recent female athletes.
And in the morning, when tired, strained the creaking bed,
and the Havana radio something minted about yields,
he cradled her, instinctively trying to cover
the impostor proletarian absolutely not with your palm.
She had a heart. As usual with hearts
there was enough place for others.
A lot tend to fit
In this glorious age, in this second childhood,
but fear of sobriety and the petty bourgeoisie...
... In a frenzy of jealousy, in a coma, powerless paralysis
he was always confident that these, and other, kiss Th.