By | 1 February 2021

roma, mexico city
i spend my last night

burying his body
into my chest.

by now, my ribcage
must be an altar-

an ofrenda to
the young man
who offered me salvation
for 500 pesos.
patron saint
of all the young men
who have dissolved
like incense
into the streets.
he likes to tell me
a quickened heartbeat
knows no difference
between fear
& desire.
that’s the only way to live here,
con el jesús en la boca
in that sumptuous edge
between being and longing
to be elsewhere.
his room
reminds me of the last ten years;
of absence and the silence
that has grown in its place.

a candle to
la guadalupana
gives its last light,
covering our bodies
with marigolds,

as if they were already

i’m obsessed with the sheer
physicality of him
the topography of his skin;
fields of bone. rivers of muscle.
how it
reminds me of our country.
his eyes
two full silences
like the faces in the placards
lining the corners
of the zócalo.

we consume each other urgently,
voices stretched into silent mouthfuls.

i pull his body so close
we feel the same hot blood
beating away from our chest,
scattering everywhere.
licking the nape of my neck and
his prayers at the back of my throat.

bodies heaving in rebellion
with their presence,
refusing to

and we finish
with our eyes closed,
mouths open to the sky we pray to,
but never see.
bodies limp & fragmented,
dripping with warmth.

he tells me he always wanted
to feed something
more than hunger.

i tell him,
you’re enough
to be remembered.

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