[repose]

nostolgia… ; /

Repose

We spent our days ravishing Los Diablos, stretching ourselves across city streets, taking in senoritas, pupusarias, cultivating culture and absorbing its sin. Spent our nights under body heat, buried beneath vodka-stained sheets, breathing incessantly, revealing our scars in shifts. All the while California leaving me…

I awkwardly stumbled about for five minutes, clearing my throat, forgetting insecurities, leaving modesty for the Atlantic. He welcomed me and I rested on hopes. The next six days would be inspiring, delighting, filled with late-night conquering and immortalizing. I left my shells and services at his feet.

Groping under streetlights, surrendering under a boulevard of histories, awestruck by beauty, I was a plain face amongst the Marilyns and souvenir shops which carried her memories. But I loved him on those steps, in those theatres and along the blue line metro rides. I loved the expressions on his face.

Reposing in room two hundred and eight, relating and copulating before matrimonial ceremonies and I’d been waiting so long. Undeserving of the adoration, I cuffed my palms to his face, watching his lips quiver and his body sleep. I’d felt at home here and it didn’t matter where we lay as long as it was together.

I left with trite remarks of love, requited, divided by airport securities and three thousand miles of time. I miss the palm trees and weak-kneed looks of lust. The feeling of feverishly thickened sighs.

California left me warm and wet-lipped, composed, alive.