red car, red heat, red leather.

and you only know two words.
well, phrases rather:
“te quiero” and “vamos a bailar.”

the casita’s washed white.
you don’t unpack.
just split the metal tongue of your suitcase.
pull something red and strapless from its mouth.

you walk cobblestone until you hear strings.
singing, whistling, clapping.
the city’s heartbeat. your heart beat.

oh, and you know numbers, too.
point to a glass, order one.
red wine, red lips, red lights.
sweat and hips and swaying.
thigh slits and gold chains.

a hand extended.
you take a sip.
take the hand.
can’t shake a thought.

how long has it been,
two years or twenty?
since you used
the only words you know
on yourself:

i love you,
let’s dance.

I started writing this piece in Oaxaca, and finally found the rest of the words this morning. I hope you utter both phrases to yourself this weekend. Lord knows we need more dancing, laughing, and unadulterated spontaneity in a life so painfully long and insultingly brief. Cheers to more moments that make our hearts beat.

Happy Friday, friends.
—Nneka