ghost town
this was a ghost town before I moved here
at that time I was still living the dream
in the sunny heights of Medellín
(you can safely imagine that I was
spending half of my days snorting coke
and the other half drinking, until
I had defeated my liver, then I would stop
only to do that again in the next day)
but she opened her legs, sent me a picture
of its hairy and wet middle
and called me by my name
I had no other choice than coming in.
if the crowded train I took
had moved as fast as my will
it would have derailed somewhere
possibly right inside my pants
in the exact moment when she started
kissing me (killing all and everyone
in the morbid and lustful process, but
you must remember: this was a ghost town).
in the night we met each other
her ass stared at me for a long time
weird, curved, soft, and
begging to be licked
so my tongue complied and she choked
a little with the gasps of her own desire
we repeated that over and over
during the entire night
changing positions and roles
discovering uncharted spots
inaugurating old holes
after all, I was nothing but hooked
by the hot weather of this city and
the heat that emanated from her arms.
what was that feeling that struck me?
I didn’t know, in the same way that we
usually don’t know what anything is
so in the absence of knowledge I did
what the flesh does best
I hid her left nipple inside my mouth
and played with her breasts
she replied by sucking my
deepest thoughts
and with thoughts I mean
in that warm night she swallowed
my whole being.
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