The Lingering Wound • poems by Simon Anton Niño Diego Baena
Honeymoon
My wife snored loudly: the walls trembled and stars shuddered given such distance.
All the guests closed their windows despite the heat.
I got up, smoked another cigarette, and opened the balcony right before dawn.
The night lingered like a wound—
Down below in the surf, Napoleon Bonaparte wept like a child, sniffing a rose.