Adobo Criollo Sergio Antonio Ortiz Rivera

Autobiography of Eyes The invisible, rooted in the cold,  maturing towards that light that dissipates in every other light.  Nothing ends. Time returns  to its beginning, the hour  we breathe: like nothing,  as if it could not see a thing. It's not what it is. At the edge of summer heat:  blue sky, purple hill. The distance that survives. A house made of air, and the flow of air in the air. How are you stones that are unrolled against the earth. like the sound of my voice in your mouth?

Hangover I feel anguish  when breathing the smell  of dead sex. The hangover  of satisfied furtive pleasure  arrives, I put away  an unshakeable silence  when I close my eyes. The skeleton of my last kiss  rests on your left thigh. I set out to smoke on your lap while I think about my short life. Is there anything more important than this? Beyond the dark glass of my window birds sleep on an old tree. They'll never know of your existence under this white concrete sky, my lovers’ firmament. Insects  fight to the death in the mystical light  of my lamp. What beauty!  There is nothing more ephemeral  than love, pierced by sex.