Sometimes, if only cherries had a kiss. Sprouting endearing pestilence. Most, yes - alright - all of the time, I’d rather have lemons’ early dew.
in the soft torrential curls that
pool at the base
in that fresh morning milk
comes the caustic awakening
sonrojo en su sonrisa
the same flavor as sunrise
I’d rather tener palos para construir una cabaña. I’d like you to scratch my chest, claw at the limbs, burn from the roots, and watch my fruit fall.