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In the Minor Basilica of the Black Nazarene, Wednesday


by XXXX


I hate it when I am fucked like a woman,
on my back.

This time I asked him to,
and if I could also scream out another name.

Of whom? he asked. Whose name?
The name of the handsome boy I love.

In Quiapo Church, Manila, 
I crossed the aisle between pews on my knees,

along with old men and women
with desperate wishes, like myself

I felt my knees bruise, its skin peel.
If you give him to me, I promise

I will give myself to you. 
You and he will be my world.

Coffee for him in the morning
(a black hole in a cup)

then prayers on my knees so sincere
I dissolve into ash like incense.

The Black Nazarene avoids my gaze
as he genuflects and carries his cross--

his skin blackened by surviving 
a burning galleon that sailed from Mexico.

Nuestro Padre Jesus Nazareno!
He ignored me still. 

If you survived fire, 
so can I. Remember this.

I will wait until then
but my offer remains. 

I got up and walked to the car,
where I wept.
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