Adobo Criollo Sergio Antonio Ortiz Rivera

We're all that's left “quedamos nosotros, victoriosos, con alas y deseos y dientes y locura.” Efraín Huerta The two of us lying on the sand after making love on the beach. You said it’s late but I couldn’t imagine you'd leave. I remember the treaded paths, the beach resorts where our hands defeated our bodies. We were hybrids dreaming of words and other fevered voices while others sank like rocks in the fog. I don’t remember how many of these encounters we had, the torn arteries, the bottomless anguish deleted from my memory, the storm traveling inland destroying my divided past.

We're all that's left “quedamos nosotros, victoriosos, con alas y deseos y dientes y locura.” Efraín Huerta The two of us lying on the sand after making love on the beach. You said it’s late but I couldn’t imagine you'd leave. I remember the treaded paths, the beach resorts where our hands defeated our bodies. We were hybrids dreaming of words and other fevered voices while others sank like rocks in the fog. I don’t remember how many of these encounters we had, the torn arteries, the bottomless anguish deleted from my memory, the storm traveling inland destroying my divided past.

We're all that's left “quedamos nosotros, victoriosos, con alas y deseos y dientes y locura.” Efraín Huerta The two of us lying on the sand after making love on the beach. You said it’s late but I couldn’t imagine you leaving. I remember the treaded paths, the beach resorts where our hands defeated our bodies. We were hybrids dreaming of words and other fevered voices while others sank like rocks in the fog. I don’t remember how many of these encounters we had, the torn arteries, the bottomless anguish deleted from my memory, the storm traveling inland destroying my divided past.

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.