Fiesta de los maniquíes

Stiff bodies
the mannequins dance.
With the red of their lips
and the shine of their hair.
Glassy stares
wrapped under the sax.
Perfections in the curls
their throats dry.
Mannequin party,
don't touch them, please.

My little lady
tell me how you're feeling,
perhaps disappointed
to see me dead on the scene.
I want to be the guardian
of those starless nights.
Don't delay your arrival
Cinderella, they await you.

Mannequin party,
don't touch them, please.