Gorete

Gorete

Gorete was a waitress.
I fell for her at first glance.
Belem is a city
Of much romance.

The Amazon steams
It is a land of dreams.
The river flows into the sea.
Much bigger than the Mississippi.

I was thirty eight
And at the end of my prime.
But I figured
I could go around one more time.

Gorete was twenty six.
Dark hair and eyes.
Her bright smile
Was a welcome surprise.

We would go to nightclubs
And dance the lambada.
We’d laugh and kiss
Her English was nada.

So, I spoke pidgin Portuguese.
And she understood okay.
She even laughed at my jokes
In her smiling kind of way.

We would go to the Circular Militar
At sunset, end of day.
To get in,
I had to pay.
We’d have a bench to ourselves
And watch the Amazon flow by.
We’d kiss, beijo, some more.
The time would fly by.

I’ve never kissed so much
Or so deeply 
In my life.
I’ve never kissed so completely.

Kissing was an art.
The Amazon disappeared.
We were all emotion.
Until reality reappeared.

We didn’t have sex,
Not until the end.
Right before I left
Never to see her again.

But it’s the kissing I remember.
The smiles from Gorete.
Romance lingers
I can’t forget.

The muddy Amazon
Still flows by the old fort.
New lovers are kissing
Now it’s their part.

Time and emotions
Flow by like the Amazon.
Unstoppable flows
Of today and begone.

Back in Seattle
The Amazon was far away.
Gorete was gone.
Like yesterday.

But the emotions
I remember.
The river flowing by.
The kissing, the touching,
And a beautiful woman’s sigh.

TJM