I remember white curtains —
they hang without motion
in the open window
of The Hotel Caribe
as the heat roils up from the concrete
3 floors below
and I think of you —
naked and motionless
and the freedom
that comes from a day
of complete abandon, spent
…you…
AWOL from the MIA gift shop
…and me…
a half dozen hours
before my bar shift begins
at the Fontainebleau
it’s late summer
in Little Haiti
and the housekeeper
is shouting at us
in English (somewhat)
as she bangs on our door
with a mop handle
like she always does
and she says that it’s 1 o’clock
in the AFTERNOON
and we have to leave this place
RIGHT NOW
or she will call lapolis
and I remember how you
laugh at her
like always
and you say –
30 minutes more
granmoun fanm
and we hear the mop wagon
amid curses
rattle off to the elevator
and we reengage
and reassess
and point
your lavender painted toes
skyward
and in the end
I press my face
into the pillows that are slightly
scented with a detergent
that remind me
vaguely
of the Rodeway Inn
on the east side of Denver.