Adobo Criollo Sergio Antonio Ortiz Rivera

7 things to do after the Rapture Break into Condom World, spend a month in Paris with a flasher, learn how to walk on stilettos, make sure you’re not wearing panties, fly to Bangkok, get a massage with a happy ending, eat lots of pineapple, you’ll end up tasting like a lollipop, go to the S&M dungeon at the Torture Garden in a leather kilt, don’t give away your fetishes, find the man of your dreams and marry him on the spot.

When you’re on the screen I thought I was a mermaid with an overgrown tail and black eyes. Your fingers, a sea of mirrors, slit my body apart. I felt like a snail full of anxiety, desiring to taste your laughter, your thighs from which windstorms of urgencies spring, to tangled gannets in my mouth. But this glass sun, this virtual camera   of anguish does not live of seaweed or salt. It walks away from the sea to grovel in the reality of you temporary nakedness.

Cuando estas en pantalla Pensé que era sirena de rabo frondoso y ojos negros. Tus dedos, un mar de espejos, quebraron mi cuerpo. Me sentí caracol lleno de ansiedad por saborear tu risa, tus muslos de donde nacen vendavales de urgencias, alcatraces enredados en mi boca. Pero este sol de cristal, esta cámara de angustias, no vive de algas ni de sal, y se alejó del mar para humillarse en la realidad pasajera de tu desnudes.

tip me if you like what you see— the heartbeat of a bird in agony, I’m all out of tokens

cam 2 cam there’s so much missing’ from his profile … is he clairvoyant does he jump from star to star

cam 2 cam grité mis alabanzas y solicite un regalo dame tus noches solitarias el bálsamo de tus flaquezas

c 2 c I shouted my praise and made a request— gift me all your lonely nights, the balsam of your weaknesses 

boys on cam  offer everlasting love  for twenty minutes  of vanity … lyrics to desperate songs

Idris doesn't need a last name Broken flowers and Days of violence Where do I place my dead? My skin is full of holes, clumsy, dark holes filled with dead bodies. Where do I put these faces, these hands? My memory is already brimming with death. It’s not enough to shout, march through the streets carrying your portraits for those empty of light to see. Hitmen gag those who suffer with chains, with more than chains, with hate, a thick, putrid hate. They masturbate on our chests, panting, moaning while they polish our heads. Decapitated days are howling while hitmen leave the city roaring with laughter.

My sex awaits you you sweat your loneliness on Mogador's endless walls what do you sound like when I’m not there to listen, when my sex bids you goodbye? Do your words fly  like the hummingbird?

I was born  without a truce,  empty of gods,  wrecked in the cool of dawn  at the foot of your forest

When there’s nothing left to do but walk away Go away to where this sting of languages cannot find you. Take my bed of splinters, leave silence as a promise. We'll both be judged by the same darkness, burn when we see each other distant, so real, fractured, cynically different.

deserts grow on my skin, my waist decomposes the shadow of your hands… this stench is other people’s pain

I looked in your eyes and saw your heart fading into turbid rivers, your silence strangling my name

El Convento Hotel in Old San Juan, Puerto Rico Accommodations I am an amorphous seed and words are my lair. My eyes grow in disarray to the rhythm of elderly sounds surrounding me. I was born without a truce. Empty of gods, I wait for night to turn into dust, but I can’t leave your eyes. Silent and extinct, I dwell in your grooves, and review my confinement within your borders. Outside of you I am transparent, lightweight, tiny. In your autumn skin— dry moon— I fall apart between your legs. You breed my throat from point to point. I sprout from you.

A love problem my love, I’ve got to wreck this animal’s costume trunk I dreamed that a chameleon followed me everywhere that I only had one razor blade I thought that when I woke I’d be kissing your breast but I don’t recognize things in this room one night is enough for these carnivals I just want to catch that chameleon the rest will straightened itself out when he’s dead

Malcolm Liepke, American Painter she’s asleep, dreams of chrysanthemums trickle down her nipples… her insides are nothing but mercy birds listen to her breathe until she breaks like a branch… dawn has not arrived

Yesterday I let the sea wrap itself around me, it dragged me with rage and removed everything I am except my body. The sea does not drag misfortune. I love you like the enduring past, the hidden future. I have not changed much. I’m still marveled by the sea, I let myself be carried away by its waves. I tell lies so I can say I’m joking, I haven’t changed at all, and in my eternal repetition, my disrespectful, treacherous day, you fluctuate like sea waves.  

To the one with the starry eyes and a heart of stone… everything is always you. My name is as common as a door or an empty photograph. I will not call upon your namesake, I’d rather call you brother (I’m with you             in your pain). My chest is an uncertain number of certainties. I am not homeless, nor am I sick with deadly fever. I suffer love, and that is perishable pain. Time rots what it does not understand. I am son, brother, slave. Each one knows which part of me belongs to them. Sometimes I’m a cock and it’s not because I’m scared or an asshole, it’s just my face. Yesterday I let the sea wrap itself around me me, it pulled me in with rage, removed everything I am except my body, the sea does not tackle misfortune. I love you like the enduring past, the hidden future. I have not changed much. I tell lies so I can say I’m joking, I haven’...

to the one with the starry eyes and a heart of stone… everything is always you

I’m looking at you  the beauty of your silky smile the velvet sound of your voice your absorbent silence your warm and slow diagonal gait floats as if it were snubbing the plants bristling on my skin your skin messes up my hair your hair the scent that lives in my mouth my mouth full of teeth devours your absence the muscle or the shoe that I kiss I kiss your legs you sob your toes  are on my chest my chest about to explode your eyes are burning your most intimate  hair  on the edge of your forest and I moan my demolishing tongue razes the lower and the upper part of your trembling body your body pure as amber

I will forget  these bent enigmas, these rectilinear watches of hope, this alien body in the flame of sandalwood

Inch by inch Skin, hair, tenderness— my love is touching you. You are no longer an imaginary happiness, now you are my permanent bliss, the open air where I lose to win. You say, count to ten and find me, and I start looking for you. I ask, are you there, and you come out of your hideout laughing, with yourself  in the background, wrapped in a new scent, a different nakedness.

come to me alone to catch my aura I am the wind and the opposite of wind datang ke saya sendiri menangkap aura saya saya angin dan sebaliknya angin

From a Sea of Silence My mother used to sing, I don’t know if she sang to forget the debris, or the cobwebs of time, the blood that did not return. Mother’s sleepless light lived behind a lace curtain, her body peopled with ghosts. And now, when I call her, only the sea responds.

he’s gone, should I fly away? the afterglow of happy times still lingers… a night wind howls