With her broken immigrant English I wonder does she think of me, this woman who loved me unconditionally. I wonder, does she dream of me as I of her, can she see me as she waves goodbye through curtains blowing in the wind. Does she know I am sorry for the letter the-misdeed. Did she get the letters I mailed to her, did she ever read them. It was a misunderstanding an attack of paranoia I wonder will I ever see her again. For a moment she was mean and she screamed such obscenities.

Retaliation is such a bitch.
It’s a constant itch in my prick.
Words like poisoned darts went right to the heart,
And the damage was done.
I wonder, we had so much fun.
Nonna Silcana Sperta grazie tanto por tu amore.

Photo: Azarel, Color and design Rubin Gilbert