We start with denial

because the movement of

a comma is that of my tongue

when I touch you,

When she said come over let’s watch Annie Hall

I thought about wearing lotion stolen

from behind the mirror of her green-tiled bathroom

at two in the morning

on the night I learned how to be touched with purpose.

One day she told me about being born

before her thumbs knew that human language had granted them

a privileged name and position

and I remembered with utmost sadness that she was all thumbs with his body

before they could learn how to speak.

I still eat from the  jar of honey we opened two years ago

and my hands sink into sugar hoping

panic transubstantiates it into acid

just long enough for the ridges of my fingerprints to shift into

someone that’s not quite the

me who walked away.

We end with the mistranslation

of a poem he was never supposed

to put into his mouth,

We end with denial

because the erasure of

a comma is that of your tongue

when you touch him,

By Maru Pabón, Contributor

All Images via Google Images

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