Exhibit S: Pa’ que me quieras por siempre
Leaves on fire, something to hold the loss. The only jar deep enough is the flower at the base of the skull. A flame blossoming in my hand and a knife in the opposite palm. The darkness kneeling with its hands full of wheat. Knee deep in the threshing, oh stand back. Wheat is feathers, wheat is the delicate plates of the skull fusing, refusing. Belkis, cross my back with plate darmor, my knuckles with scales. Let my palms be the ones puckering with fish.
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