when the sun put on her yellow robe, she was shining
sitting in the humming café in Sevilla which graced her street’s corner like a jewel
while my love was sipping his café solo, the lip of his cup smiles at me
our young waiter cuts slices for my bocadillo con jamón
as he greets me yet again, I notice how beautiful he is with his curly dark hair
feeling guilty as my husband slips his warm hand gently between my legs
suddenly the aching in me is a yearning that physically hurts
biting into my croissant de chocolate, I feel the heat traveling like a stranger
starting where my husband’s hand remains and rising to my cheeks
I hear the voice of my husband, whose every inflection I know intimately
as he touches my fiery face…