Gracias Por Haberme Pintado
tatiana, you made me harvest stinking prunes and blackened thumbs from your bewhiskered friends’ litter box.
You knew I considered cats pedos but I knelt for you, at altar de cacitas, recogiendo stiffening prizes.
I scooped north, south, yeast, west.
One turd flipped me off.
Your kitties painted me brown.
tatiana, you made me stand beside your planeta with my chunky lips sealed.
I obeyed, grano de arena mudo, enjoying my position as your moon.
I think you told me my job was to provide sensual page turning.
tatiana, you told me, “Here is the book,” and to open it, and I did, and I inadvertently chose by opening to dandruffy dreamer.
You tricked me into picking my spirit animal.
Crusty, cold-blooded, you-better-cut-your-nails-if-you-want-to-sleep-in-this-bed air licker.
With sage, you baptized me lagartija.
You drove us to the Long Beach tattoo parlor where a boy flattened my totem/chola name (Órale, Dreamer! LIZARDS ARE DREAMERS!) on my chest so that it could sleep near my snoring milk.
tatiana, you told me open my mouth and hold out my cheek.
Then you slid your cure for altitude sickness into my wet.
We Gilaed. She-la-ed.
tatiana, you made me arepas and slid soggy lentils before me. I slid soggies into my mouth like my hamster, my first female love, taught me, you hoard them in your cheeks and let them stretch so that you can Dizzy Gillespie, have a pair of balls, have a manhood near your tonsils.
You fed me lemon cupcake.
Your yellow defied
can of Lemon Pledge.
tatiana, you stuck oily fingers in one of my cogs, made it hum and grind again. It was partly your smell. You smelled of a million flowers stuck between life and death but overjoyed to be where they were. Overjoyed.
You talked to me about things that bothered me.
Things you understood and knew names for
tatiana, you made me untangle the knots in your rainbow-of-pinks hair, snarling pomegranate curls, encabronadas, a nest for a queen eagle to lay baby eagles in, me Curious Georging up in it with a pick you handed me as you flirted
with perfumed mosquitos draining
tatiana, you made me drive myself to a simmering Iowa cornfield to burn hoochy, coochy,
vaginiacal, punaniful magic, fagic despite my
Gilbert Gottfried (sounds so much like Godfree) ways.
This painted me in birthday candle wax.
Golden green surrounded me, ready to Jiffily Pop.
tatiana, you painted me