Aldo Amparán

Chronology with Little Deaths

In the dark screening,
a play of hands, your fingers.
Blossoms in his jeans.

!50!▪

Holy water: what
river: our shared bed. Blessing
of your boyhood sleep.

!50!▪

The backstreet behind
the theater will do. Broken
bricks. Bruised sky. His face.

!50!▪

Seven missed calls. A
voice message you erase. A
man stirring in your bed.

!50!▪

Gossip: your neighbor died + last week while having sex + with a woman.

!50!▪

Colonies multiply inside you. A temple arches. A rock

!50!▪

formation !50!in your veins !50!absorbs white

light, your veins !50!bursting seams.

!50!▪

You watch his sperm die
on your hand. He speaks. All you
hear: underwater noise.

!50!▪

Gossip: the woman + was not your neighbor’s wife.

She wore blue + stockings to the funeral.

!50!▪

You play with yourself
again, play yourself into
a ditch, believe love

where only lust can bloom, the o
in another man’s face, his bareback

!50!▪

promise of the ever-
after. Lick everything spilled from his quaking

tongue, his word obliterated
in your wake— the sore cheek, the empty bedside.

!50!▪

Gossip: The woman might’ve been your
cousin your + sister your + mother + might’ve been

!50!▪

the moon guiding home
a lost ship, the black sea waves,
the hum of your hips.

Aldo Amparán (http://aldoamparan.com) is a queer poet from the border cities of El Paso, TX, & Ciudad Juárez, CHIH, MX. He is a CantoMundo Fellow & finalist for the Alice James Award. His work has appeared in, or is forthcoming from Black Warrior Review, Fugue, Gulf Coast, Kenyon Review, Washington Square Review & elsewhere.
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