By Sergio A. Ortiz
stretch out on my skin
like a hill bitten by the sun.
The fruit slips, grows, swells,
it’s burning. At six in the mirror
you enter me
as the most expectant guest,
simple as a river of light.
You cover me with your man skin.
You, the tongue that runs through my veins
to silence me. You take my eyes off
painfully and give me two other arms
with which to weigh life.
Your mouth drizzles on my back.
You scratch my back and write your name.
You talk to me with your bones.
the longest sound you’ll hear tonight.
When we are alone, still naked,
when everything is over,
The air has just discovered us.
Sergio A. Ortiz is a two-time Pushcart nominee, a four-time Best of the Web nominee, and 2016 Best of the Net nominee. His poems have appeared or are forthcoming in FRIGG, Tipton Poetry Journal, Drunk Monkeys, Bitterzeot Magazine, Moko, and The Paragon Journal. He is currently working on his first full-length collection of poems, Elephant Graveyard.