Hour Twelve: Piel Marrón

but i was soothing you in the endless supply of my Spanish blood,
give you the elixir to life, teach you how to swim in death valley, in the rivers all across,
the southern tip of my love.
I am against fragile, tanned flesh, resurrecting ghosts,
my ancestors paved the way and I’m still abusing their history.
i am impulsive, needy and short, my thighs are cornerstones to fragility,
my masculinity is lackluster and you’re such a pale god,
I hate the sun when it’s rooted in despair,
I lay there, trying to thread mindfulness into my skin,
and I grip your name like my last savior, some sort of holy thing,
but I am speaking in riddles, my brown skin,
mud under your feet, in the white-temple moon, the river draining out of my muse,
out of you,
ivory god, splendid in his foreign tongue,
conviction and licked his lips,
I was dirty and ruined.
I understood all of it, when you love all these women,
and I am but your friend in the eves of disaster,
a true lover, but no one ever slept together in divinity,
I could sell you love poems made with all my secrets,
and captivate every possessing demon from out of you.
We talk about the universe and the particles, frequencies to shift the eve of our dying breath,
become success when we refuse temptation, so many things to uncover and discover,
I must bleed again and speak in tongues,
in my brown skin I have evolved to be more than you thought,
this was thicker than water, the rush of my fingers to your throat,
here we go, against blood-stained sheets, from birthing in the unknown,
we have found safety.
I rummage these corridors, searching for a way to be just like you,
but my brown skin gets lost in translation though we speak the same language,
it is biology, building us in spreading lines and these depths have dissolved us.
come back and retract every acidic word,
I will speak to you because fortune favors the brave,
and I can save you, save you with this brown skin, undying skin, loving you, pale divine.

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