pillow talk 

guilt here is a hunger: 
defies gravity 
resides less in bellies than in throats 
and upon tongue tips, quivering on the razor’s edge 
between flesh and dry air. 

the unsaid lies latent, loaded 
with meaning, sugaring toward rot like 
the cactus fruit of this desert 
garden, begging 

to be plucked, despined.  
the sheets murmur as you turn your back, 
waiting awake to accept amends. 

what kind of madness keeps me quiet?

you shave nopales with your eyes
call persimmons and avocados to ground with a single, soft syllable; 

the same fruits I pray to, begging them to sprout me a language so wild that words
would become obsolete. 

after night goes to sleep, dawn arrives, overripe. 

MARC HUERTA OSBORN

Marc Huerta Osborn is a writer and educator living in Alameda, California. His poetry has appeared in Rust & Moth, The Acentos Review, Ghost City Review, Juked, Defunkt, and elsewhere. His biggest creative influences are pelicans, pozole, and the ocean.