I am drunk on warmth, the scent of my skin, on speaking with smiles more than words. I am drunk on a dash of derelict, the pastel shades of decadenace decayed, shabby chic, on revolutionary zeal on peeling posters.
I am drunk on sunshine, on green-blue seas that lick lap golden Caribbean sands. I am drunk on the rocking chair creaks that usher in the gathering dark on balcony windows and front steps; intoxicated with the musics that writhe sinuous through syrup-thick nights, the tapping feet, the pulse patter, the drumming fingers, hip swings, dog barks, cowboy hat mutter of ‘tsst, guapa, mi amiga’ that blend into the percussion of the city.
I am drunk on strong arms that make the fact I don’t dance salsa, or meringue, or rumba, seem entirely irrelevant as I spin through songs I don’t understand but somehow make perfect sense, wordless.
I am drunk on hot bodies, the insistence of the beat, aftershave, reggaeton, and the beautiful bull shit about lasting love in 60 seconds that I am still smart enoguh to laugh at.
I am a little drunk. I’ll sleep, wake, grow sober, but for now I am enjoying the daze, my Cuba rum sunshine, dream dance daze..