A Spanglish blog dedicated to the works, ruminations, and mongrel pyrotechnics of Yago S. Cura, an Argentine-American poet, translator, publisher & futbol cretin. Yago publishes Hinchas de Poesia, an online literary journal, & is the sole proprietor of Hinchas Press.

Saturday, October 10, 2009


By this time, nos hemos sacado las madres.
We've fought and cursed at each other like wraiths.
She knows the type of underwear I wear when I have run out of underwear to wear.
I have seen her in her grandma chonies and ratty sports bra and it still makes me Randy (object and adjective), sometimes.
Intimacy is not the romantic chambre titillater they lead you to believe.
It has no bells and whistles or gps or Indiglo beacon or cooling system.
Intimacy lays bare the things loved ones do that we hate yet tolerate.
That intimacy joint will make you want to hurt the person in your bed.
It relies on the jagged plank of your loved one's tongue.
No hesitation before puncturing skin: a modicum of savagery.
No, what's intimate is uttered most in public, delinquent invectives.
Domain is the most intimate stance a modern couple can approach.
Like whatever I say I say in a voice loud, clear, and direct.
Is not be to neglected, naysayed, noodled, or malnurtured.

1 comment:

Anonymous said...

that's the one son! frank and ahhh!