La madrugada

Love Poetry, Poetry

El perfume de tu
piel manchó mis sabanas
ayer. Te fuiste
cuando mi zenzontle
te cantó. Al amanecer solo
encontré un hilo de tu
vestido que rompí.

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It’s Overpowering

Love Poetry, Poetry

Room temperature too much
you casually took off
your sweater, exposed your skin
and a surge of lust
overtook me.
I won’t lie.

Soft, smooth.
Your hair pulled back.
So soft, so smooth.

Entranced by your Coppertone
skin tone and I
couldn’t stop thinking…
so soft, so smooth.

I’d explore you.
Find the deepness of your depth.
Define your soul.
Explore the valleys
that your hills create.

Allow me to travel
along the curves of your body.
Sensually.

Explore the intimacy of your self.
Explore us.
You, me
together.

I felt lust, girl.
I won’t lie.

Solamente una vez

Love Poetry, Poetry

Se me fue
metiendo en mi alma
ayer. She was like a cat
moving slowly, stretching underneath
the sheet of our love.
Miraba como su cuerpo
hacia un pirámide con
cascaditas de tela pura
escurriendo de las puntas
de sus dedos.
Su pelo era fluido y manchaba
mi cuerpo con cucumber-Dove fresh scents.

I found my soul lying
as on a lily pad floating
while our bed stayed in place
y élla seguía la curva de mi calor.

Her body fell.
Her fingers rose.

We touched palms
as my hands met hers
nearing my chest.

I knew I was lost.
I knew I was gone.

Me perdí entre su movimiento
y en su mirada. Trío Los Panchos sang
at the foot of our bed. Me cantaron
como si fuera la única vez,
la única vez que nos viéramos
así, alma dentro alma.

The Incident

Love Poetry, Poetry

Her eyes crashed
like two truck drivers
speeding down Interstate 15
with mine.

They collided.
And her blood rushed
like an ambulance
to the scene of her cheeks,
lighting the boundaries
of her embarrassment.

I stood crushed
by her loveliness.

Home

Love Poetry, Poetry

So here we are again.
Alone with our thoughts and
the samba gently playing in the
background flavoring the mind
in red pulses of heat, orange drapes
and that sweet jamaica taste of
your neck, I kiss, you grin.
And we slowly slow down as Rúben Blades
takes over the track.

Tan, tan, clíc, tan
clíc.

El filo de mi lengua saborea
el sudor caribeño que brota
en el aire,
and you, mi amor,
sigues llamándome a descansar.

Alone
I dance along the wood floor
carving into my bare feet the
recuerdos de tu amor
along the hallway.
I pull you to dance
and you’re not there.

I see you every now and then
at the bakery ordering guava-cheese
and I keep walking by,
no me quieres ver anymore, cariño
but you do.
I know you do.
In those moments when Pérez Prado
adorns your kitchen walls on Sunday
mornings
like church in our young days.

Salsa fresca and plátanos fritos
don’t taste the same to you
since then
so you annex them in that box
you created for me,
papeleado with confetti
and manteca Farmer John’s
because your vegan ways can’t
take that anymore either.

You gleam when I dance.
Gleam like that subtle upper
lip sweat I drew
when Tito played and we stayed
like crows in the night
dancing our heads and
caressing our speech
singing through oceans of orgasms
and fingertips.
That was a beautiful October night
that the Santa Ana’s made
with clear skies and that wildfire
moon. It was like the world knew.

We were over; you
had to go home.

Salsa Fresca

Love Poetry, Poetry

Her shoulder blades
dance together
as she slices a tomato.

I sit at the table
tapping my spoon to my heart beat.

Click, click.
Click, click.

Her hips sway as salt, pepper, and cilantro
meet diced tomatoes, onions, and peppers.

Click, click, click, click

The small of her back arches as
she struggles to squeeze a lemon
the way it does when I run my hand down her spine.

Clickclick, clickclick.

The tops of her shoulders become glazed with juice,
glistening,
like those moments after our late nights
in July.

Clickclickclickclickclickclick.

Suddenly,
she stops
turns around
and frowns
Stop.