“It starts with a smell, her smell, lingering on my fibers, clinging to my ankles. That is how the all-day texting starts. That is how ribs cave in. She turns on her back, pushing her self into me. We spend years of nights on this bed, tongues and limbs folded into one another, knotted together. My palm touches the lilac tattoo on her back. We become the face in the petals, we are inked with the weeping woman, we carry her moans in our spines as our bones bend to our shape. The sun starts to creep through the cracks between the blinds. It’s always the scent of her that endures: in the pillows, in the sweaters, in the blankets, in the couches. She takes a deep breath and turns to face me, eyes open just enough. It’s another morning under our tongues, another sun on her skin reminding me of the malleability in my chest.”
Jorge Quintana
I am an undocumented Xicano poet and activist. My poetry revolves around my thirst for love and my conceptions and deconstruction of manhood and my culture.