The last time I saw Popo, spiders fell from her mouth.

These pearls were once teeth before the water’s

whittle and polish.

One morning I feel myself illuminated with looking, blinking between my legs, our lust immaculate.

Be safe, mija, shame should never sleep in the cradle of your mouth.

There’s part of me, probably, that feels safe letting men
let me down, I write while leaving.

There is someone inside me, watching this tulip bloom.