Name

I.
She said my name tastes like a mango;
what’s it like on your tongue?

There are nights where it is your mantra—
is it cinnamon that lingers, sweet cream,
or starfruit? Is it a flavor you want
on your lips forever—whispered
in the cold dawn under thick covers,
when the first dusting of snow has fallen?
Echoed in stone cathedrals, called across
crowded souks at dusk when the sky is rose gold.

II.
Your name is indigo velvet, wrapped around me
at midnight. Watching Aurora Borealis curled up
next to the fire—safe in it’s delicious warmth.
It’s amber perfume—makes me think
about licking honey from my fingertips. You are fresh
ginger and sweet mint in my mouth—a balance
I constantly crave and hold onto.

III.
Our names entwined, we swim in the Aegean after the sand burned our feet.
Late night drives through small towns to abandoned roadsides where we
can see the Milky Way. Your smirk when I bite my lip—my back rolling
into an arch like Stoya’s when your hands press light bruises into my hips.

~~~

Marisa Silva-Dunbar is a Latina poet. Her work has been published in Dark Marrow, Dear Reader, work to a calm, Chanterelle’s Notebook, and Marias At Sampaguitas. Marisa is a contributing writer at Pussy Magic. Her work is forthcoming in Dark Marrow, and Apathy Press. She is the EIC of Neon Mariposa Magazine.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s