I know we were planning to dance together.
But it’s not going to work out this time, either.
One day, I will touch you and know you;
and you will know me;
after all the waiting and anticipation,
that day is, again, beyond the horizon.
I had told my friends of my intent to enter you;
to wind my way through your Northern territories
in search of the fruits in the South.
But the snakes that lie around your neck
invited me to “take my business elsewhere,”
and hinted that they weren’t afraid to bite.
I persisted, in my stubborn way,
searching for the direct path to your heart
and the treasures to be found therein,
but after a closer look,
I took pause.
You seem to be a bit “defensive” at the moment.
If this affair was going to happen,
the wooing would be a one-direction deal —
though I’m not afraid of such things.
For I know that there are two types of love:
the wicked kind:
that faces me,
and fills me,
and leaves me wanting to be filled;
and the wonder-ful kind:
where I am the one giving gratitude,
and in my eyes the world is a little bit brighter;
where I know that I am one with another —
and maybe all others,
or at least a few.
But it wasn’t just you.
An old lover’s name got mentioned,
and I was dumb enough to look her up.
At first, it had been just a fling,
but then I moved in for a while,
and though she still holds many secrets,
ours was always an easy affair.
She doesn’t mind if I visit her girlfriends,
play alongside them,
and breathe their breath for a spell
before drifting back again.
When I’m with her,
she takes no note of my affection for Lombok,
her neighbor next door —
or even for those pretty girls up the way,
that call like sirens to hearts like mine
from the pages of magazines.
And though I wish she had fewer suitors,
it wouldn’t be fair to ask.
Many of them take better care of her,
and since long before I came around.
But still, I know a few of her secrets
and the time that we’ve spent together
has always been good,
despite the fact that she is no longer aging gracefully.
One day, you and I will dance together,
but for now, she’s made an offer
that has proven too tempting:
Easy love. Low price.
December 24, 2015 — 3:52 am
Unfortunately, two months after I wrote this piece — and opted to fly to Bali rather than drive through mainland Mexico — a pair of Australian surfers that had chosen the adventure that I had shied away from, were robbed and murdered in Sinaloa. My condolences to their families.
May 27, 2016 — 8:41 pm
Here is a piece on Mainland mexico surf travel that came out about 9 months after I aborted mission and fled to Bali: