amor de calaveras

in life we are granted a few simple pleasures

and the best ones are never easy to attain

they come in various forms

the most elusive of them all is

each other

we hold on by the tips of our fingers

to our lovers, companions, compadres, mothers,

fathers, brothers at arms...

it is a difficult task to endure

but it is one we take on without any hesitation

there is pleasure from the pain that comes

from loving each other

and a pain that comes from holding on too tightly

in dreams we are frightened by the reality we refuse to accept

if it is so difficult to hold on to the smallest of loves in life

how or what do we hold on to when their life ends

there is an obsession we have with

calaveras, esqueletos, y cosas de muertos

hay una obsesión que tenemos con

skulls, skeletons, and things to do with death

we dig into their flesh

til our nails fall off

til theres no more blood to be bled

til our fingerprints become freckles

on their skin

it is a love of death in life

and a life of love in death

our obsession becomes a comfort

and a small way to pay homage

to love lost

in life or death

its un amor de calaveras

a love of skulls

-lola besott