Oh, oh, baby: the door opened making new, irregular
air, startled into the shape of Texas. Blood behind each syllable,
as if my body recognized touch & pulse before a hand
had ever laid there. She made love to vowels while I
hated the sound of my own name, each i & a
their own kind of irrevocable aches. She turned Iliana
inside out, stretched it into something almost
delicate but still strange. Amor prohibido: nothing less than
homesickness & its inverse—the more cumbia,
the further language ran from me. More ranchera, closer
she came. Distance between unfamiliar & familiar
shorter than a bullet’s reach, light tripped over light to warm
her silhouette in wounds, & something about her ass
that’s already been said a million times & better.
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