My Spanish sucks. But I love you in the jeep upfront, sitting beside me, your bible-black eyes cutting through the moving night, the chompchompchomp of the window wipers, the nuzzled red of the brake lights in front of us, they’re asleep in the back seat, a bumbleshoot of cramped arms and legs and heads leaned up against someone else’s shoulder. You are someone I can talk to through the coffee and the HIV pills and the crystal of the flesh alone, speeding through the underneath, your english is just fine, we squeeze through the three in the morning deserts dressed in tatters and my mouth still above this bitter, iridescent town. You have experienced such transition. Throwing out everything that doesn’t fit into one bag. It’s going to make you mobile. We can all pile into the jeep again, and take off like rocketships of speed, time shift, slipstreams, and Waffle House.
Hielo de mierda