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businessman with bad skin staring at me because one woman said that los homosexuales estan de moda which is to say that it's a trend, the decadence of modern society or some shit and all of a sudden i realize i have no idea how to defend myself in spanish and i close my hands into my neck and my professor's beautiful concerned eyes try to drag the words from my blood like thick reluctant pearls stuck in my mouth no es una decision, i start to explain but what i really want to say is uy mami, senorita solorzano, quiero cogerte, i want to go to back to nicaragua with you and kiss your mother on both cheeks and cook you churros and burn them and watch you laugh at my clumsiness, throwing back your dark wavy hair and disturbing the pinpricks of sweat collecting on your upper lip and causing the blood to flush at the hollow of your throat and i would carry your small beautiful body to bed and we would make slow beautiful love and after i would pretend to sleep while you stood in front of your mirror and sang in your half-decent voice the songs your abuelita taught you, and run fine turquoise combs through your hair and arch your back slick with heat and lust and then you would come back to bed and kiss me on the mouth, and you would taste like me and i like you and "es una caracteristica?" she offers helpfully. i gag quietly and say si and plead with my eyes for her to pull the expensive ring off of her left hand and kiss my neck, but she misunderstands and nods and said the most beautiful thing i wish i could translate about mas amor y menos guerra, you know, more love and less war but although she continues to speak and look kindly into my stolen gray-green eyes the white man raises his eyebrow, but the mexicans turn away from my eyes and my yellow-brown skin and the dark roots in my straightened hair and the high cheekbones hidden carefully beneath my father's salary and most of all my love, my love of what does not love me and calls me filthy names in the language of my mother and says that one day i'll find
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