Estos Huesos Viejos

I am an old soul between
nothing and everything
in this old hotel in Mexico.

We lay iris to iris,
bone to bone and
it took 540 million years
for our eyes to evolve.

"Eso es mucho tiempo",
I give you in my best spanish,
but you don't listen.
Even the flies have gone.

The ground smells of limes
in summer. "It's hot here",
you say in english -
but you are already blue
when I am dirty.

Mis manos son pequeñas pero
mis huesos no mueva. Además,
no puedo oír la lluvia y suspiro para
esta medianoche. No puedo leer tú.

(My hands are small but
my bones still. Besides, I
can't hear the rain and sigh
for this midnight. I can't read you.)