fabian montes Poems

Today is one of my saddest days in my life.

Summoned for
divorce I rather let a
...

Will you tell her?
that her father was once a robber, a thief, a marginalized ostersized man that grew up on tortillas, peanut butter and welfare,
that his motherher abuelita had a shattered soul and abused prescribed pills codiene, valuim and cocaine
and that she was calciumless everytime she took a step she fell, black eyes, broken feethands, and spirit
...

My love of
her
she inspires me
she excites me
...

I CALLED HER RATHER THAN ASKING HER TO COME AND TAKE THIS CRYSTAL CLEAR GLASS FILLED WITH DARK RED wine, ITS AROMA WAS INVITING TO JUST PICK IT UP AND DRINK ITS BITTER TASTE, IN JUST ONE WHOLE SWALLOW SHE DOWNED IT, YET IN HER EYES I SAW A SLIGHT HESISTANCY TO DO SO, I ROSE MY GLASS AS SHE DID THE SAME AND IN THAT OLD ANCIENT GESTURE OF RITUAL WE BOTH TOASTED TO LIFFE'S BEAUTIES AND TRAGEDIES. I TOOK A REFRESHING SIP OF THAT TASTEFUL STIMULATING wine LETTING THE WATER CIRCLE THE INSIDES OF MY MOUTH, SHE IN TURN TOOK A RATHER BIG DRINK I CLOSELY WATCHED AS HER FULL DELICIOUS red LIPS KISSED THE GLASS, SHE DID IT IN SUCH A MANNER THAT I ALMOST THOUGHT SHE WAS TRYING TO SEDUCE ME, AS SHE LICKKD HER LIPS AFTER TAKING THAT FIRST DRINK HER EYES MET MINE AND FOR A BRIEF MOMENT I FELT MY EARS TURN WARM AND I SAW A MISCHEVIOUS LOOK IN HER EYES WITH A TOUCH OF SPARKLES, THAT AT THAT MOMENT I FELT A DEEP CONNECTION WE BOTH FELT IT, BUT I BROKE THE SILENCE AND ASK HER HOW SHE LIKE THE WINE, SHE REPLIED THAT IT WAS EXQUISTE, DELIGHTFUL AND DELICIOUS

AND ASKED OF WHERE DID I BUY THE BOTTLE
I TOLD HER A GOOD FRIEND OF MINE HAD TRAVELED TO CHILE
...

After waiting, Searching for that special feeling, for inspiration to arrive. (and this is what she told me to write) .

As I listen to my heart thinking intuitively, as the lyrics of love that live in me flows, the music flows in the air into the lungs of my spirit, in remembering her love for me and my love for her. As stupid as it might sound and makes no sense to love; that someone who has lost hope to love, who has forgotten me, Yet I still can write of the music, the beautiful sounds we made together, the deep years of verse making in our bed because of passion, in the living room of arguments and in the hospital bed of birthing, with the contractions of life of pain of childhood. as our own reflection of love is ready to burst out and cry and live, resonating something beautiful yet painful from within our own lives, with every loud cry, erupting out, sounding like a loud bass coming from the depthness of our own childhood issues. Yet the music whatever way it came out, it was beautiful even if it was or is full of pain, sorrow and the best with tears of brokenness that in the middle of it all something in that tearful symphony of agony was born. We live, we learn, we became grand composers of our own song. Owning our unique sound that is pure Music as we live, as we sing, as we learn to love once again.
The music of life lives inside,
...

Its hard to love myself today
eventhough i so need it, so feed me
that hunger I really need
Today
...

Tonight

I am lost in the abyss of my pain
...

Why, why, why

Are we deep down maschoist
...