Weary sojourner slept just before dawn.

Weighty curtains dropped like trailer doors

en la calle de perdición a Paseo Colón;

dreams of a melancholy whore

danced fluidly on sparkling, tawny sand,

flirted playfully with teasing waves,

nimbly avoided pink-lavender tentacles

reaching through el sueño's haze...

Dream visitor left a gift-- a smile,

suave voz tranquilo me susurró una cosa,

a thing nearest peace in a long while.

Hoy, no me siento triste puta sola.




*Inspiration for the title comes from Memoria de Mis Putas Tristes/Memories of My Melancholy Whores by Gabriel Garcia Marquez. The city of Paseo Colón is where the narrator (of the story) lives.

*I used my poetic license to make "voz" masculine for my vision.