The Coin

To Sara Ahmed

I’m afraid of going to sleep

of wasting my time in the inactivity of dreaming.

I’m afraid of closing my eyes

and for the grams of life to burn up

by the fire of my sleeping neurons,

with the flames of your memory

just like tobacco touching your lips

in a symbolic dream.

To have and not to want!

Having to sleep and not wanting to sleep,

to want you and not be able to have you

what a macabre silly game.

In a world without a vertical axis

and only with the notion of movement,

of temporal lapse

maybe there I could have you

and you would want me.

There I could feel your brown skin

carved out of volcanic stone

like a jaguar warrior ready for battle.

In that place without a sense of rectitude,

I could tell you how much your presence

makes me shake

like a city built on a lake

of illusions and hopes,

of mental gaps where I don’t know if

your name or your face

are my own.

You smile and I take your cheek,

the blackness of your shirt is lost in your eyes

just like my neurons are wasted in your memories

and my blood circulates once again

to the rhythm of your hands,

your Centenarios smile.

I have to sleep but don’t want to sleep

closing my eyes scares me

but if that means entering

in a world with no vertical line,

then I want to dream forever

so I can have you,

and so that you perceive me

not as an object, but as a subject

one equal to your same direction.

What a macabre game

to want you and to not have you.

I close my eyes and your hands

wake me up.