God of War
By Lisa Marie Basile
I am Mixcoatl,
do you not see?
Where your tongue travels
up into my red and white stripes,
a Mexican licorice made from
blood and clouds,
I see your confusion
That is why you come back
again and again, your bottom lip
in snarl, and your top in love,
following my ice pick kiss.
I am found with you in my
death basket, my hunt over,
my nudity ashamed,
my head in sweet licorice hands,
tasting of nothing but war.
This is when the smoking mirror,
the Tezcatlipoca inside me, asks
me to just stop.
My love is sorcery, and has brought
humanity to fire,
a fumbling God,
a tantrum made of galaxies that cannot
house my sorrows.
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