I cannot explain the source of this desire,
of this visceral longing
to lay by your side
in those frail
finding home and comfort
in the small of your chest
as if it were a compound
I’d yearned for my entire
It’s as if I had never
lived before your laugh
and I know that isn’t true. You’re
not the source of my brilliance,
You are simply the place where I
am no longer required to
all of those things at once
of my worthiness
for protection of my body
I cannot comprehend why
or how, I find solace in your fickle embrace. Your
chest could very well collapse under the full weight of
my flesh. Your arms may give way to gravity and inertia
as I fall from the stairs of your enclave. But I
sense home in you. No theory
can articulate the lurch to your presence.
Perhaps it is the kindred nature of
our survival stories.
Your scars know mine by name, location and formation.
(Y)our small frame betrays the strength situated deep within (y)our spirit/s
Maybe that is the fulcrum.
We both know the cost of living.
Your scars trace my journey to and from home.
Your T-Cells remind me of the daggers lodged within my body
and your sexual practice functions
as a fucking of a system
that thirsts for your death.
Caramel skinned with ebony politics
and passions that burn crimson.
Tattoos from the AfroLatino & BlaQueer Diaspors
you two step, tip-toe, bachata and meringue
through the flows of survivance
the throws of intersectional, compounded
existences that are known to the soul
but foreign to the tongue.
song of love and war
of life and death
of here and nowhere.
Within exists the promise
of a tomorrow
whose name we dare not speak.
That is why I love you,
of heroics, trauma and innovative