Adobo Criollo Sergio Antonio Ortiz Rivera

All of this years, 2017 NaPoWriMon entries have been taken down, they have all been submitted and journals don't want to see them on a blog.

Reaching for Lips frost music the authenticity of dirty snow the impenetrable instant when a body begins to approach another body when a river starts to enter another river without undressing plunging into another dimension in a humble Arcadia of infancy it might not even be a river, or a movement, or form,  but a garment covering bodies under a cherry tree with branches  strangely open  but it's not a cherry tree  it's more the shadow of a guardian angel knees tremble when lips reach lips

Another Virginal Silence I do not believe  in the Name of the Father. I believe in you, who tosses  and whisks my woods when praying on my body. I prefer to celebrate  this slow euthanasia with sweat-laden body  and exorbitant eyes on a meadow of radioactive stars, beheaded mallards on my lap. You dreamed the schism of the saints the mystery of hermaphrodite wreckfish. the Virgin of the dunes  and vinegar  for wandering antelopes. When I see you sleep, night perfumes herself with oranges.