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Today I held down soup
today I whistled with arid lips
today the clouds were cirrostratus
like wool ground between your molars
my hollow chest echoes acid,
even in milky minutes of forgetting.
I can talk about suicide and Takayasu's,
snapping an elbow, but this-
-
You are tiger milk.
My grandmother taught me to cup
the bowl with both hands
and drain the brothy white,
lapping like a dog
(my aunt used to crack bones
with her teeth to get at the marrow)
-
I called you tiger lily, milk
and honey, but you are leche de tigre
the salt and cilantro in my mouth, raw
breathing fish cooked in lemon juice
really you're the fish,
gaping at the citric burn
your hips the bowl
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