Brown is the color of my god's skin.
Gentle, curvy, older than a Spanish whip.
My god abides outside of sin,
no water needed to baptize the newly born.
Brown is the color of my lover's back.
The color of wombs, tender and soft.
Color of mothers, color of their sons.
Supple and round, violently quiet.
Color of ancestros calling us home.
The color of home.
Brown is the desert of my child's face,
color of woman nestled in her woman's love.
Brown is the only color I know,
dirt from which I grow.
Color once bought, traded as gold.
Color of heaven, color of pride.
Loved by the sun, abandoned by flags.
Transcendent of seasons, the walls of our souls.
The color of hope.
Color of feathers coating my serpent of night.
Hidden from the world, in my stubborn graying curls,
in the Oreo-flavored lips of a lover.
The color of god, the bowl of Chac Mool.
Legs of a musician strumming my sighs.
Celestial as stars, mundane as a smile.
Holding more meaning than X holds in sounds.
The color of love traced on a man's thigh.
The one who is seeking, the one who is found.
Color de libertad, of borderless bodies,
of borderless writers, of borderless hope.
The color of us.
Published in Amorcito Maricón, poems by Lorenzo Herrera y Lozano (Kórima Press, 2014)