he moaned across the ocean
screeching for the hem
of mama Sosa’s sleeve
reminiscing a translucent gesture
opaque in the confines of his skull
I held on for dear life, quierdo
like sun-dried mud caked under your empty kophers
to imagine, to imagine
te quería mas de piel mia
tears that fed trees like milk, calcium
grows twigs resilient to piercing greys
your eyes never left Sugatra
as you peered into me
and into effervescent currents
claiming that blind, dumb salamanders
were your only reality
poor poor niño
and I mean it like you, your people do:
noting the slight boy najwa in his eyes
water in his waist, stickiness
hesitant of the rushes you cause
as your toes spread in terra cotta
mi amor, nada siempre jamas.
I still cross the same lines
into my palm
amongst kisses and slight pinches that
held the woman inside of me
hostage, captive in a cage
how I yearned
to pull her out by her hair
shaking and shrieking
embarrassment , silent
to sharpen knives in her teeth
and rest her assassin hand
between shoulder blades you call home, where
blood damns into tributaries
beneath peach-blue stretched sky.
Trust me puto
you might as well have the privilege of knowing:
I rub the phantom grease
off my chin and moan.
Clean apron, hunger knife
to believe the buds in your britches
once bucked and bolted
against the breaks in my hips.
to know the sight of
caused you to cower
but that’s ok because
even the most famous artists
in front of rigid earth, unfinished business.
Romance prevails reality intrudes
wasn’t it after all sadhana
that saved my astringent soul?
pulling stems from Abrahamic wool
I have nothing more in my pockets
but seeds for the small birds
tucked in your chest
te quiero nunca jamas.