Love’s a loaded gun with no safety— I kissed the barrel, dared it to save me. Midnight prayers in a language we made, Tongues like switchblades, vows like grenades. You called it fate, I called it fire, We danced on the edge of a live wire. Your touch? A sermon. Your leaving? A theft. But…

They named a storm after me -and I ain’t even flinch-. Didn’t need no forecast to know -I’d tear shit down and baptize it holy-. Skies don’t cry — -they confess-, palms breakdance, streets hum, and the trees lean in like they know me -like they remember-. I was born with thunder in my chest,…

By the time you read this, I imagine the silence between us will already feel like a season. And still, I needed to write you, because not every goodbye is sharp. Some slip in softly, like dusk in the hills of Barranquitas, where the air once smelled like rain and roasted coffee, and we swore…

Start by peeling back the layers—like citrus rind under your nails, sharp and fragrant. Bitterness clings at first, but underneath? Juice. Sweetness. Sun-warmed possibility. Slide your hand across your own chest and whisper: this body is still worthy. Say it with a tongue slick from honey. Say it like it’s a recipe passed down through…