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.