AS THE DAWN OF EVERY SUNDAY

Some years ago I lived one of the magic moments of my life in Port Vendrès, a town located in the South of France, close to Coilloure (where poet Antonio Machado died in 1939) and to the Spanish border. It's a small town, in the seaside, with nice views and a peaceful atmosphere. A wonderful place to love and to be loved.

AS THE DAWN OF EVERY SUNDAY
(Port-Vendres)

In the morning, looking out from the balcony,
watching the lights of the bay,
the fishing boats moored, the masts
tearing the sky that is spying us
from the rounded island of the moon.
Your head rests on my shoulder, your hand
playing with my lips, printing
a new desire for existence, confirming
the response of a free love and sincere
naked as our spirit
which aims to mature like a fine wine.
Covered by this seascape
I feel your embrace in the heat of the moment
the vertigo of this inner journey has just begun,
this desire to live together and hourly
the day that gives us the passion
of lovers, with the miracle
of this shared sea
that pulls all loneliness
and want to slip from our skin,
as the dawn
of every Sunday.

José Luis García Herrera