Dreams of Sinaloa

horseback on a clay trail in jalisco i find two vanilla cream scorpions one on it’s back and one in tears i ask the sad scorpion if he knows the way back to colima his sun cracked voice whispers between spittled sand ‘save me from being without my isabella’ his eyes roll back and his arms lift with the rise of my boot i scoop the dead lovers into my palm and bury them on the side of the clay trail in jalisco

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