Late night snack

I was hungry for cheese.
I wanted some of that
German white cheddar
flaky, dry and cleansing.
I was also thirsty.

It had been warm
in the day as a
Spanish spring afternoon.
The cap for the cold sat on the table.
The night changed to Russian bedclothes
and snuggled close as darkness.

I wanted borracho;
I wanted to slam dunk
against the skylight of the stars
banging my forehead at
the glass ceiling of the night.
I danced with the cap
and cured the disease of closed.
I shouted my affliction at the night;

I shouted dark words into the darkness
and watched them disappear
knowing I would dance in the day
knowing in my arms
I would find the smell and warmth of you
knowing I am so familiar with
your lips, wordlessly
telling what I am
and me, like a stupid tourist
puzzled and hypnotized
by this strange language
enjoying not to know.