pink lights
the LA sun is crisp this February morning
I feel the wind circle my damp hair,
my toes—
my legs, freshly shaved,
feel the warmth of this sun—
thighs split
share in this warmness
you watch my smile
I show you my teeth,
my heart
a trembling animal in your hands.
everything all at once please?
clean the wound
watch it heal
there is no place other than here.
when we bleed, we drain—
imbue in shapes of understanding
convinced that love should taste like trust
and look like compromise
mostly though, it tastes like fears
feels like marble
beautiful, smooth
durable, valuable
I lie in bed,
open windows
pink lights
you adjust me, on my back, eyes looking up
and you say, “look at the moon for a while…”
but all I want to do is look at your glistening face
your mouth, lost inside me
there are moments like this one
where our veins are sealed ,
no blood to spill
only eyes that see, the reflection of the other
~*~
Ingrid Calderon is a Salvadoran refugee residing in Los Angeles. She has been published in OCCULUM, Electric Cereal, Dryland, Seafom Mag, Anti-Heroin Chic, Bad Pony Mag, L’Éphémère Review, and other places. After writing three chapbooks, Things Outside, Wayward, and Zenith, she continues the mischief of scribbling nonsense into verse. She hopes it resonates. Find her on Twitter @BrujaLamatepec.
Featured image by Josefa nDiaz
Punch Drunk Press 