La Malinche

I bathe my eyes in bleach and my tongue in tequila shots until I forget your name and face.

Out of the corner of my eye, I see seeing you see me across the bar; on your third Jäger bomb, a major upgrade from the homemade lean we used to make in your dingy kitchenette.

A pendulum of broken looks and words left unsaid
The lime wedge between my teeth grounding me from masochistically wedging my teeth into your neck;
My red lipstick, a temporary brand, that burns me more than the matching infinity tattoo on my right hip
Clenching the inside of my thighs together until the until I feel a ghost of pulsation in between them;
Refusing to let my home be invaded by intruders dressed as familiars again.
I occupy my mouth with a rim of salt, as I stumble into the grimy bathroom; a smorgasbord of discolored liquids and mold.
I splash water on the back of neck as if to fan of flame, but I am burning deep from the pit of my stomach; spontaneous combustion.

As I try to drown myself in off-white sink water, door lock behind me, and I succumb to the decimation, only the feeling of your healing hands on my hips can cure.
I am a descendant of your worship once more.
“Ay dios mio,” my lips in continous prayer; assigned penance.

Give me my salvation and never stop.
I wake up in Egyptian cotton sheets, and leave without my shoes. My black-bottomed feet lead me to a church
I don’t feel delivered, only desolated.
I am the conquered; the forgotten and discarded.
My hair reeks of vodka and regret,
My tongue of cum and anguish.