I don't speak Spanish in Rome.
I can't feel the flow of my tongue and lips like in Mexico I do.
I only feel in Italy,
my toes do not know ground anywhere else.
Nicaragua makes me blind, and I have no eyes:
I see nothing of what I hear them say.
And I forget again.

But here, here I can taste
there is something sweet about your voice
and it floats to me
in the scent of fresh nectarines,
which I always keep close to my lips
so that their juice can stick to my face and slide down my chin
when I bite in.

It takes a while to open your eyes,
but once you do
everything will have color and you will never shut them again
(not even to blink back tears).
I will always feel the wind on my face,
but now that I can see it
(low whistle)
(bird call)
(there is something about humans that is special)

The feeling of music when it is inside your body:
Latin is beans and rice, but with a bite
Classical is stepping up and dancing on a stage
the voice is in your heart
(it’s beating *** *** *** ***)
the beat is coursing through your veins—
some find this sickening (*“Get it out!” *they scream)—
and then it is you.

My lips are immobile
I only feel when you are near and touching me
and that is sometimes enough
(without taste and sight and hearing or smell).