Hand rolled Cuban Cohiba
wrapped in the scent of cedar.
Cigars smuggled across angry borders.
A gift de mi corazon (from my love).
Floating amidst Cohiba smoke,
Jobim’s old bossa nova tune.
The sultry voice of Sarah croons the lyric:
“Quiet nights of quiet stars / Quiet chords from your guitar…”
Disinterested evening breezes
dance in and out of the apartment
through the balcony’s sliding door.
My usual guests on quiet nights like this.
Nights of Brazilian jazz,
Puerto Rican rum…
and dreading my wake when Monday comes.