Adobo Criollo Sergio Antonio Ortiz Rivera

Sometimes me,  but always You You love me? Are you listening? Do you love me? The third silence was blunt.  I walked away restless, my sobs desiring to sob.  How much more do I need to stop needing? What if we sleep together? Should we talk about something else? It’s cold outside, maybe you should wear a scarf to cover your distant eyes.

My Earthly Goods They closed the park and paved the lawn. I don’t have more than what my pockets can hold, a couple of avocados, lemons, a kitten with no owner, and so many kisses for you… Who at the end of the day all you have are blisters, a mild winter that does not satisfy your longing, and me, and doubts, and who knows what else?

Twilight Body I want to rid myself of this blood depopulate this death undress this face. Open my legs between swollen trees and engender a jungle where desire sprouts blindly. I want to poke my head between the lips of the world pursue the thrashing of my pubis and save myself from me the broken, the incomplete one. I want to be the dawn.

Wake Up Paper Man Wake up and hear my voice! I am your weightless brother hiding in your shadow, a drunk kiss, the nightmare of a god, a spider in heat. I am the nameless beast that follows your footsteps, lethal, absurd. I never believed In your freedom. Worship me in altars made of pitchforks and whips. Wait for me in your dreams, your tears, your anger. I’ll wait for you warm and loving so that together we lower the curtain of blood and skin. Take the hand that awaits you since you lit the first fire and follow your own forgotten darkness.

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Paper Man Welcome!  My mountains are shattered look at your kisses stuffed in the gallery welcome to the map of my horizons your nakedness      your laughter pour down on me welcome to my pocket where I keep verses, wisps of echoes of your bodies welcome to my ashtray of hopes where your stem pours its bitter blood and I pay for your hugs with deaf pagan prayers welcome to this garden of houseleeks Paper man locked in his steam cage the servants arrive with golden trays as he hides in the corner and moans I heard your rain voice on my paper streets and all I could do was smile while the ink dripped blackening my heavy feet. In our conversation, we pretended the casual existed in a wall of salt. I kissed the salt and here I am with thirst, tense, muddy in my absurd size. Stay with me while I dissolve with tears, saliva, sweat, our painful distance. The salt wall closes and the paper...

If you come to see me  at nightfall at the hour of my magical fatigue and you hold me in your arms make me recall the flavors of your mouth, the echoes of your footsteps the source of your laughter, your kisses… if you come when I’m handsome and wild and my lips are utter sweetness and they’re made of red silk and they laugh and sing when my mouth is as full as nail in the sun when I close my eyes because they’re so heavy with desire I won’t            know              what to           do! 

A Barren Wilderness He fills my chest   with a sorcerer’s charm, the thrill of painful things. There are bougainvilleas   under the burnt heather. What I bring inside? Hallucinations, murmuring voices. a fallen pallium, the gold on my coat of arms stripped and I’m no longer love. I’m barren rue in bloom.

In morning twilight Night is a thirsty trap whispering the chill of omens, a ball of fear falls down the stairs of countless poems stuck to the roof my heart. It’s thundering rain, cats make love in a great-big orgy. I can’t focus, everything’s becoming opaque. I find no compass to indicate the way. I wander blindly inside your bed sheets. You move, bite lightly suffocate me and place impatience our on a thrown. You exhaust sound, calm tides inside my head descend kiss smile and own me.

Your Breast perch on my lips © and challenge my tongue in a swaying of saints. That’s it!! They’re the holly chalices of nacre holding up your neck refracting into upright rivers that run high. My teeth lose their edge. The distance from me to your night lips   evolves in tablespoons. Men and lonely women read our story, plagiarized our sighs and you’ve begun to hate that so and so Gregorio. It serves him right for being such an asshole

Nur of my dispassion… you jumped with your back towards my face. I adored your back sprinkled  with kindness! I don’t want for your eyes that are so crammed pins to scrutinizing my eyes coloring them alkaline in a face to face farewell. Do it in front of our friends so I don’t kiss you. May our embrace rush the heat of this mid-day hunger before the world becomes toxic, but remember to give me your back.

Cocaine We’ll call this consumerism era love making us a dose of powder                         let’s plough the devil’s property             until the day of the golden ring             and the cloying gala             with an anthem to the Blessed Virgin At the market of love —buttocks paralyzed with rubber to be desirable —whisky, gold, and assets so that you drift in my direction and you’re not short of goods in your old age You’ll open your eyes touching your husband’s back, he’ll squint touching your backbone. You’ll both load fingers and hands smelling of drool, saliva, and lies. Fruit of the devil’s property this is how you’ll sleep. Devalued currency d...

Monologue One word explains another. Take "loneliness", it’s a gap or a stone falling into the void, even the air hurts and walking is not enough, sleep dies but you sleep. Loneliness is to search for your height, your exact size, in others, or rather it’s to divide yourself to form a broad chorus of nothingness. What horrible loneliness is in the one who begs for affection by blemishing tenderness. Let laughter be laughter and hatred be hatred, and a man be a man above all miseries.

Fatal Surge You tasted the salt of my inner thigh, dunes of fine, smooth skin strung my most intimate garments. I found honey in your rump from where I drank its last fiber. I followed the crescent moon, the swell of the sea swallowed me.

Madrigal a la ciudad de Santiago Llueve en Santiago Mi dulce amor. Blanca camelia del aire brilla su tiniebla al sol. Llueve en Santiago por la noche oscura. Hierbas de plata y de sueño cubren la desierta luna. Mira la lluvia en la calle, queja de piedra y cristal. Mira el viento desvaído surco y ceniza tu mar. Surco y ceniza tu mar, Santiago, lejos del sol. Agua de mañana antigua temblando en mi corazón. Nocturno del adolescente muerto Iremos callados a orillas del vado para ver al adolescente ahogado Iremos callados a orillas del aire, antes que ese río se lo lleve al mar. Su alma lloraba, herida y pequeña, bajo los aromas de pinos y hierbas. Agua despeñada bajó de la luna cubriendo de lirios montañas desnudas. El viento dejaba camelias trilladas en la hoguera mustia de su boca triste. ¡Vienen mozos rubios por montes y prados Para ver al adolescente ahogado! ¡Viene gente oscura de cumbre y de valle Antes q...

Sombra que duele Cuando una caracola invade el Mandir de tu corazón sin decir Om ni quitarse los zapatos, y no enciende el incienso para rezarle a tus muertos y el  espacio se deshace en tu cuerpo como una ciudad en tinieblas doy vueltas en esquinas donde nadie—ni un solo hombre, me espera hueco de amor, indiferente a la ternura.

Last Train to Nowhere I used to like crossing boundaries with you, on you, tell you everything like that flower-vine that grows fast-forward. But we no longer have those conversations. The after-party’s over, lights on, the dance floor's full of passed out drunks, men who lost the last train  to nowhere.