十八岁沒有別的季节,只有夏。 夏是我,更是她。
隔着小小的圣安东尼奥河*,她跟我相望、相笑、对舞起來。
应游客的要求,她跳古典西班牙舞。我跟不上,
我呢,脱下牛仔帽,鞠躬,向大家聊表谢意。随即,猛然地、
她踢掉舞鞋,掀起榴裙,涉江采帽。采得了,
当夜,发觉她那天堂般的雪白胸脯上刺有一滴蓝;忍不住,
“可以吻掉墨西哥的泪么?” 她问。
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*德克萨斯州南部 La Villita 露天歌舞场。
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Turning 18, it was all about summer … I was summer. But she's much hotter.
From the other side of the little San Antonio River, she challenged me to be her fandango dance partner.
She must have found a natural-born fandango dancer in me.
Truth be told, I ended up earning all the boos and jeers the fandango audience could dispense.
Taking a bow anyway, I tipped my cowboy hat. Then I tossed it to her in no time. It fell short, sinking unceremoniously in the giggling water.
Not good.
Not bad either.
The wake of a passing tour boat pushed my half-sunk hat toward her stage, catching her attention.
Offstage and shoeless, she saved my hat from drowning. She even cared to put it on —— size didn’t matter.
Men’s hats started flying around her.
With my cowboy hat dripping all over her, she resumed dancing on the stage, instantly joined by me, the fastest cross-river swimmer the world had ever seen.
Later that night I couldn’t help but embrace her a bit too masculinely, nearly missing a blue teardrop tattooed on the virgin snow of her heavenly bosom.
“May I?” I asked.
“Try kissing away Mexico’s tears?” She asked me back.
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