A Little Prayer by Aurelia Lorca

Ask I still love you,
and I will write you a poem.
Because sometimes it is not just the moon, you know,
or even the quotidian of good morning,
how was your day, no, it’s ok,
I will clean the dishes.

Ask if I still love you,
and I will answer
with the shock of a fevered scribble
that is stolen from the airy nothing
of a lunatic, lover, and poet.

Ask if I still love you
and I will answer
with how I want to be the mouthpiece of wildness,
and spin forever, forever, forever
from my fingers.

Ask if I still love you,
and I will tell you how
I want to live with you in a windmill of the imagined,
     ultimate good,
where we forget one another and anyone else,
and create from the divinity of faithful fantasy.

Aurelia Lorca

Some say Aurelia Lorca needs to be bitch slapped by the present. However, the past is never dead and Dali and Buñuel need to be bitch slapped even more than she does for characterizing Federico as a priest dragging a piano and a dead horse: There is nothing more surreal than being Andalusian, other than being from an Andalusian family in Monterey, California.