Like the spit you used to lick the tip
Of your finger
As you traced your shadow
Outlined on my chest.
That night was wet
With sounds in the streets beyond
The cutout of our 12 by 12 space
Lit through the fire glow
Of street lamps.
I was deep inside
Of your thoughts like
A swimmer searching your coral
Undiscovered by the wanting eyes
Of the surface of the water.
And we moved along with the tide of the moon
Shifting our bodies through gravity and wind.
Esteban Alejandro Raposo is from Los Angeles, California. Sometimes, he is a confidant, a lover, a broken soul or a delightful conversationalist, but always seeks to find the best in people. During his time served at Cal State San Bernardino, he discovered that writing would always be a part of him, and necessary for survival.
It is the beat, the rhythm, the dance that keeps his silly temporary existence a meaningful play for life.
He believes that you write, you die, and someone may remember you. You can see his work on: Twitter: estebanaraposo Instagram: estebanaraposo