The Tenth of June

There's smoke in the valley, beer vapor in the air...      
       
I apologize for the vapor,  but I must add that the smoke does not scare me, nor the wolves in the background following my trail      
as I walk trying to figure out where you have run off to.      
       
The sky cried cold tears a thousand times.      
I heard your voice among the trembling trees, but did I?      
The wolves that howl are my inner offspring of Satan while I am missing you      
without reason for compass, but only emotion      
driving my heavy steps through the mud of sour liquor adoration.      
       
"El amor es un juego,      
pero es un juego mortal      
y disfruto las consequencias durante esta aventura,"      
a new friend interjected into our speech, his words almost forgotten as subtly as they aroused our hearts with Amens.      
But 10 moments passed, and we all remembered, and another set transpired before we labelled this poem "The Tenth of June".      
       
And I knew the Latin gospel to be true gospel in my Southern English born ears,      
that love is a game, but a deadly one      
whose consequences I will always enjoy during the adventure.      
       
And my dear friend wobbled on his legs as Jose Alfredo smote them painlessly with a mariachi tune.      
       
This was the voice of us all as we wrote together,      
"'It is better to live a man's life on your feet than to live a coward's life on your knees,'      
Pancho Villa whispers to me in the night as my head parts with my sob-filled palms.      
       
Passion      
is tequila, taken only by the sip to spare a poor soul.      
The hair on my chest is jumping      
like the imagination flowing in the night.      
I keep on searching and hope that the brighter the star shines, the closer it is to my starving fingertips beneath heaven's black celestial drapery on this maroon dirty earth."      
       
       
NOTE: A COLLABORATION WITH TWO FRIENDS AS WE DRANK, ME FOR THE FIRST TIME.