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Showing posts from October, 2011

Denial

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Can I have you on your back For one more night …would that be alright? To let your hair spill all over my sheets and make a bigger mess of things. Let's take it back to two stars colliding in some far away universe generating the ripples that brought us together. I'll cloak myself in our reality, como La Virgen in her robe, a reality OF full moons, bare hearts and one broken cherub I want to get high off the scent that drifts in the crook of your neck and fantasize… that you loved me with the truth till the end that you loved me as your lover your partner your friend… Let's shed our clothes glide our hands and tongues along each other’s contours close our eyes sift through the memories searching for the hole to mend. We'll feel as one lying side by side making my full-size feel twin-size with our tightness. You'll spread your legs for me one last time, unfold your lips like you used to and take me in. I'll cup your chocha with

Hijas de Juarez

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Mausoleo I lived in el D.F. when I first heard this word. I’d get up every morning to go to school, would wait on a seemingly abandoned road for the pesero to slow down enough for me to hop on board. By the time I’d get on, people were already hanging from the back door of the pesero. The inside was crammed with men and women slick and scented with clumps of sleep in their eyes, but all set to start their day. I’d wait for it¬–the huge arc with a cherub fastened right in the middle to appear before us–as if ascending out of the earth. From the front, the Mausoleo looked like a dull marble wall hanging from the sky from invisible cords. The gray wall was checkered with metal plaques, with names inscribed like cicatrices. This Mausoleo was right in the middle of sparse buildings, vast parched land, and was surrounded by dusty stones. It stood one mile from my apartment, and one mile from el periferico. I would always think, “What an odd place to lay people to rest.” Los Desierto

Wise with Me

It’s been almost three months to the day since the last time I felt your body naked, and sticky with mine… still the echoes of our fucking wash over me in spurts. At least I no longer smell you in my sheets, nor emit you through my pores- I am standing before a mirror and spot the craters on my shoulders from the times your fingernails clung to me. how I wish for something immediate to fill them. Then there are the three scars near my lower back deep and ribbed hieroglyphs of our fucking oh how good I made you feel! So good, you wanted to take a piece of me, a chip to carry around in your pocket A chip you can pull out whenever you want to smile remembering those times when We overflowed with love Choked on loss Those times when I became your… You became my Receptacle. I have since shared my body. But only after I recoiled from the idea a few times did I give myself selfishly shielded my wounds with desire, spilled my secretes, not staying long enough to find out if they would be kep

Samaritan

there is no mystery really. no wounds so deep only your kisses and hugs can unearth. I like the pain. plain and simple. Will you still fuck me? Do you still desire me now that you know there’s no one to rescue here…maybe you of course la que me pide que la haga sentir. I will be your Samaritan.