Dear Xōchitl

Dear Xōchitl,

I want to love you
the only way a woman like you
should be loved:

like blackstrap molasses
pouring from a spoon into a target mouth – wide open –
that releases deep throat laughter
in anticipation.

I want to love you
like la piedra del sol,
584 days and then repeat
until the Sun God becomes dizzy
and this universe break-dances free
from predestined patterns.

Like the carving of the Grand Canyon,
we make love so slowly
as if time and death are illusions
and there are no bills to pay.

We suck on each others' scars
as if seeking to extract the pain
and swallow shots of the past
until we amnesia into the present…

the way I am meant to love you –
in the now –
frozen in this moment
that inches just enough to allow us to know we are alive
but paces just so