I think I might take to eating more chile verde
or replace my mattress with a bed of sunflowers
or compose a poem using sopita de letras,
gluing every word on the refrigerator and kitchen counters
or learn how to play La Llorona on acoustic guitar,
and perform it at an open mic karaoke bar
in a distant town of people I don't know
or wear a white pillowcase over my head
and call myself a ghost
whisper all my secrets to strangers on the phone
or take a right turn instead of left
or climb a wall, or fall in love

I guess it should be expected from me
To still try looking for you in songs
Where have you gone?
You never warned me I'd feel this lonely
Octavio

Octavio, it is likely you're just another name
Faceless, traceless
Like the stars in my dreams
I'm all bones, you're all sheets
Haunt me in the realm of dreams, te lo pido
Cariño

Do you understand this Spanglish tongue?
Can you feel the latido of my anxious heart?
Octavito, chiquitito

If there was a time of pastel pinks and blues
And yellow ribbons

If there was a time of citrus and lime
And air-drying linen

If there were days of tu y yo
Birds and bees
Half-creaked windows
And shaky knees

I'd like to visit those days, mi gansito

Is there an us in the summer
Some summers from now?
The shortest nights, the longest season
Is there any way to tell?

I'd like to know, amorcito

Octavio, mi pan dulce
Mi corazon de papel, mi pajarito
You exist sweetly in my thoughts
If no place else

Dim string lights on a soft summer night

the ghost of you in this photograph
I see you now, I can almost feel
the motion of you passing through
both our bodies

Cut the small talk.

is it possible to spend your whole life fighting love
fighting for love
here I am and there you are
fighting for and fighting against
chasing a moment a sentence a feeling
is it possible to spend your whole life
determined to making it work
and is it enough? is it ever enough?
is it more than you could ever wrap your heart around?
is it possible to spend your whole life worried
of possibilities, whether or not these things will come
will I ever find a place to lie my worrying head
in the form of a lovers lap, corduroy pants on an autumn's day
is it possible to spend your whole life searching
is it possible to spend your whole life hiding
I've not a million lives but one
Love, where is my one?