i like your face even better up close–
i told you that.
i feel weight of your eyes, the
heaviness of dulce de leche,
pour over mine;
the rest becomes a blur.
the melting of our energies
bleeds into a new aura: una
erupción de luz
we walk to la iglesia to the beat of heat waves
that amá tries to ward off with her black sombria
hovering over her head. she notices me wiping
sweat off my forehead. “take this so you won’t
get prieta like me,” she advises, handing me
the umbrella. i shake my head.
“there’s nothing wrong with that.”
we go to the church sin hablar, and as
the black nube lingers above her head, i think
about much easier it is for me to say that
being prieta is beautiful.