Mamacita hold me dearly under folds of black hair where light can't shine I feel the warmest with my nose pulling deep breaths of floral shampoos
and hot mesoamerican corn tortilla from the oven with pepper carnitas drifting through cracks under locked bedroom doorhandles, in the bed and under
an azetec starred quilt duvet between sunshine brown arms with tiny black feminine hairs, I think about dinnertime at seven with my warm Mamacita and her cousins and of all the caring people L.A shared with me.