Adobo Criollo Sergio Antonio Ortiz Rivera

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.