Elena

Life felt less threatening on empty dancefloors. We were less self-conscious in the underground: 
fingers interlaced, young and carefree despite the blacklight that cruelly exposed 
my dandruff and your teeth. They said you were evil, but the more I saw you hunting, the more I wanted to be prey. You removed your clothes and held my hands, closer – 
your lips tasted of sweet mango, sweet mango and all of the powders known and unknown to science. 

Elena, there is no doubt that life felt less threatening when you held my hair tightly and your breath was my breath. Your wild mannerisms took over the universe, my mattress on the floor, the ashtray about to erupt – all that liquor brought from Escuque, wasted on you, wasted on all of those bodies that surrounded us. You, not wanting an audience, began pointing and shouting: “He has to go! He has to go!” and so, he left, they all left one by one, until it was us, just us. On my mind you and I were going to be like this endlessly, but my heart forgot that you were fixed on leaving earth in spite of its sweet mango, sweet mango and rain, sweet mango and bougainvillea, sweet mango to-go. After you crossed the ocean the last memory of us were my bitter words undermining the parade of happy quotes that you recited to ease the despair of my poverty. Life felt less threatening on empty dancefloors. Life felt less threatening when you held my hair tightly. Life felt less threatening curled up in my room wearing your used leggings, dreaming of you.