Yesenia Montilla

Our bodies alight like fireflies languid & dazzling. This is
a dream & in it Mr. Baldwin is alive spell casting at my side 
as we lay in high grass our hands stroking our faces. I think him so 
beautiful I could cry. He is all my lovers in one body. I feast on his
eyes and his smile, the way his teeth gap parting for his every word.
The sun clocks out turning the sky Prince purple, Santorini blue 
& a delicate Amalfi yellow so bright I almost taste the limoncello. 
I think I spot the Kente of our people peeking behind a cloud
& point at it before it dissolves. We play word association, I say cop
he says death. I say America, he says dying. I ask him if he’s ever not
thinking of mortality. He laughs as if there was anything else. The
dark bleeds out against the day with its twinkle & urgency. The moon
sighs, the flowers curl their petaled blankets into themselves for warmth

I say Palestine
Now that is alive right here
He touches our lips—