1AM

                                                                                                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

                                                                                                                                   gone.
                                  2AM

                                  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.

                                  sweat

                                                          licking the nape of my neck and

                                                          his prayers at the back of my throat.
                                  bodies heaving in rebellion

                                  stubborn

                                           with their presence,

                                                                                       refusing to

                                                                                                                                 disappear.
                                  3AM

                                  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.