Orlinda Pacheco
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Bautismo de la Noche
Hail the moan that escapes
my throat as he cums
inside,
did the Holy Queen hear it?
I love no mercy when he and him grab my hip iliac crest ankle
plunge
deeper
show me fruit Jesus and I will exile
all 40 weeks
behind the pews of st. joan of arc church
on 6th street
where hookers kneel before me, queen of the putas.
yes I’ve hailed his body
ten times
yes I’ve wiped every time
after ten minutes have
passed
let me spit out the second mystery:
sex with one
then the other
is fine by one unknown to the first.
Oh my Jesus,
I’ll have him saliva my trespasses up my leg in between my thighs
if You spread yours at the base of my vertebrae first.
yes I’ve hailed his cock
circled his tip ten times
yes I’ve taken it to the hilt
and felt ten sea men dance
on my tongue
Oh my Jesus, the third mystery:
the amount of
semen my womb can consume
oh how she loves her daily bread.
yes they have kissed my
chin temples forehead more than ten times
yes I’ve glued my shoulder blades
to their chests his or his wrist pressed on my thigh closed my
eyes ten times
Oh my Jesus, who art from Heaven? it must
be me
if the fourth mystery be:
the insatiability
my clit inner core
can burst in flames
light again by one glance to
their lips.
yes I’ve abstained
ten times I could have
fucked him or him or them
yes
I’ve made them pull out
more than ten times—
only because
Oh my Jesus, The fifth mystery
may be
the worst:
I carry the cross where my womb is nailed
hallowed by thy name!
yes I will take thy name
in vain every ten times I flood inguinal and pectineus
yes I will kneel before them
see it
as prayer
Oh my Jesus, as it was in the beginning
I am
now and ever shall be
with a womb without end
We’re at my final moans, the final first mystery: oh glory oh Jesus I ignite when
we begin with his belt
around my throat with his
it’s only me, right? which of all these beads do I grope
tighter to be forgiven?
What if these lasts beads I
swallow whole
immaculate
Your soul
and maybe this time You’ll be
born of me?
Bewitch and Astray
I will collapse that kingdom
while you spread my thighs
fingers adhesive
knees. Sign your catholic cross
as you venture this
new temple.
Start from my neck,
in the name of the father,
to my cleavage—your palm hymns with my heart,
the son,
to my left breast where you pinch my nipple,
the holy,
to my right breast where your tongue swirls my nipple,
spirit,
your thumb
back up to my lips, oh dear god
amen.
Holy water falls on our foreheads, my body’s bread is
placed under your tongue
our bodies palm prayer quiver.
A cloud of thunder brews in your chest,
I bow my head in prayer
to the oleander blossom buds in my womb.
Believe me when I say I’ll Moses your heart.
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Orlinda Pacheco is an MFA Candidate at Cal State University, San Bernardino whose poetry embraces the tongue, plunges words with her lips into your sex, and meshes the sacred and profane. Her poetic moans grope at the reality of infertility and expand the walls of being female. Her work has appeared in the Pacific Review, Quake Song: New Voices of Southern California, Badlands Literary Journal and Inlandia: A Literary Journey. She currently resides in Apple Valley.