Newly coupled, we forgo tours
of the region’s aromatic bean farms
with the complimentary cups of dark
nectar brewed at first light. We recluse.
Daytrips promising possible sightings
of the emerald-breasted zumbadorcito
amid mindless murmurings
of tourists moving on without us.
We chose this hacienda in Jayuya
for its lush discretion,
where the scent of magnolias
has wafted since the time of the Tainos.
And we cloister in a clapboard bedroom,
preferring the perfume of our own pleasuring.
