Days of the Undead

I mourn the end of our love
like a death
cycling through stages of grief
lingering
at bargaining
with the undead.

I tried to bury you
block your number
and your Facebook profile
but it’s so easy to unblock
and visit the grave
of status updates.

One click
and there’s your stupid face
plush lips pulsing with
cold-blooded life
tempting me to text you:
Come eat my flesh.

In my ofrenda to you
I place my pride beside your image,
la Crucecita on the altar
with tamarindo y tentación.

And you come.
You’re alive.
But our love is dead.
So each attempt to resurrect
just creates another
monster
each one uglier than the rest.

And I mourn
in swollen sickness
as I spawn the undead.

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Attraction

My intuition is quick.

My brain is
slow
sludging through desire
fueled synaptic electricity
trained to trip me into
instant gratification

unable to parse
or put a finger on
the difference between
pulse and personality
interest and interesting

into himself or into me or
into himself being into me or
inside of me
physically but not mentally
and god forbid emotionally.

But my intuition is quick.

Something is wrong!
Very wrong!
Red flags through rose-colored lenses
still wave
shredded by the wind of his own
hot breath

breathing into my ear
me me me me
first person
declarative
no interrogative
yet finger tips quite explorative
sending instant waves
to bumble my brain.

But I trust my gut and
walk away because
instants
never stay.

Finished

You can finish my sentences.
This is sweet and
dangerous.
It means you also know
which strings to pull
to activate
my weaknesses.

I never saw it coming.
Such a silent unassuming assassin.
Floating in on
venom-tipped feathers
to pleasantly paralyze
my depleted defenses.

But I’m no fool.
And I’m a better poet than you.
So I’m off to write better sentences
that you
could never complete.

The Grammar of Letting Go

I used to whisper
I love you
to your ghost in my bed.

Now what comes out instead is
I loved you.

Blue

I think of the darkest places I have been
and I know
this is not that
this is not black

it is blue
it is a billion translucent saltwater drops
absorbing all the fiery pain of long wavelengths
and reflecting back the bright chill of short-lived sapphires

not darkness
but blinding light.

Amor en Pedazos

Yo me entregué a ti
entera.
Tú a mi
en pedazos.

Porque te gustaría creer
que la vida es así,
un momento fugaz tras otro,
negando el hilo que los une.

Porque no quieres ver
la pena
tejido en el mismo textil
que la alegría.

Quieres separarlos
evitarlos
cerrar los ojos
y alejarte de las agujas
que te sujetan
a la tierra
al tiempo
a ti mismo
y a los demás.

En algunos momentos,
a mí también se me ocurre.
Pero ya sé que es imposible.

El ciego aún deja huellas
aunque no las vea.

Broken People

Beware of
broken people
with soft exteriors

You only meet
the jagged pieces
when you get inside

And nothing hurts more than
a gentle hug
from a dull blade