men only want one thing. Our bodies are flesh fantasmas they keep tabs on in their pocket. Near YKK zippers lie my peek-a-boo moans. I don’t say each has kissed my neck with a distinct head tilt, some teeth sharp, others mass dull. I don’t say times change, Ma. I say Bueno, Mami, & save words for a future daughter: primero, sex is pleasure. No white tongues, trust the grip of your gut. Consent is a verb, noun & the meet of flesh. Your heart is not your body; their needs differ. Be safe, mija, shame should never sleep in the cradle of your mouth.