Tamales plain-steamed then whitened
like a wedding dress with cream
and queso. A beautiful simple food.
And not enough. We want more.

 

We are cravers of storms and choques
on the highway. We never mind
waiting in the long stopped lines
if at the end there can be some blood.

 

Forget our lovers. We want
a stranger, shiver deepest at the
hairs on the backs of someone’s
hands, who has not touched us yet.