Misa De Gallo
In late December the nights lack some of their permissiveness.
In the wet decorated hedges, the rich dens
of this neighborhood—maybe in their stillness—
there is something disapproving.
Drained and damp under this cashmere, I think: I’ve given
too much to never cross
your line of hydrangea, to still feel
like a disruption, for these boots
to make so much noise they give away
at this hour, for this to end
in a concession:
Yes, black dome vault of clouds,
somewhere I began to trust
my body, my tongue and its brutish but deft curiosity.
No, silent American town,
I shouldn’t be walking here alone.
I shouldn’t have done that.
The couple I deep kissed were only out for a martini
Gustavo Hernandez (he/him) is the author of the micro-chapbook Form His Arms (Ghost City Press). His full-length poetry collection, Flower Grand First, is forthcoming from Moon Tide Press in March 2021. His work has previously been published in Reed, Acentos Review, Sonora Review and other publications. He was born in Jalisco, Mexico and lives in Southern California.