The words become a wall,
a blanket, a shawl. We hide under them
and laugh like children.

I Speak to My Fiance in Spanish

sometimes i type only

for the sound of clacking. 

i imagine my heartbeats sound

similar, if not exactly the same. 

Too Late for Sunflowers

Do not run from the rabbit in your chest. You have chosen this exhilaration.

​I wanted to title this,
ofrendas for my country.
But the my sticks in my throat
like too thick atole.

Sheltered behind pages
we can jump off balconies, sip coffee,
fall in and out of love until the sunsets
become cracked maps of poetry.

i roll deeper into a sinkhole
of pillows and sheets. the corners are all pointed
in the wrong direction. beside me, you snore.

You can’t get away

from these sugar clouds, like storm

bending down to kiss you,

Pero aun así me miran. Los ojos

también pueden tocar, y los tuyos

me delinean. 