Adobo Criollo Sergio Antonio Ortiz Rivera

These Gangrenous Days There are two of us. One soft and white, the other unbreakable, yet forgetful.  These days I never blame them: he’s been iron butterfly dipped in lavender mother of his Lesbos island grape picker whose stalks are buried deep in my ass fears the evening Angel of forbidden words his heart is a turquoise ocean from where I call his name Cavafy I am tearing down these walls for any man as fragmented as you should be able to satisfy my need for strong tropical flowers penetrating my warm coffin

On Her 83rd Birthday  Someone asked about the two women  in the photograph, she looked down and fiddled  with the pages, didn’t want to tell.  That’s my sister, and she’s her lover.  After they mentioned the disease,  I thought about my aunt’s carved chest,  the lace handkerchiefs inside.  they were soft, scented like my aunt.