Read this in Spanish
dysphoria left its monsters
we shared a closet
without binary cloth
anguish asked for a truce
we substituted melatonin
for tender insomnias
chamomile hands
on scars
water bodies
without perennial confusion
we suspect anthills
and excavate deep in the earth
until we hit water
there are always drops under the soil
pleasure is a mountain range cutting across
a tropical forest
honey-covered cherries
between teeth
the bakery frost
on our breasts nipples
will make us body
papacito