When you read the title you know were we’re going on this installment of Luis’ poetry.
Undress yourself. Not of the confines and the cloth, cotton and silk. But yes, clothes have restricted us in adoration, in worship, and in service. But keep your body as you wish. As it comforts you to comfort us in the deliverance of all that is us. I say this in garments made by my grandmothers, the one who birthed my father and the one who raised him. There’s too much family history in his old departed soul. Too much rhythm in those squabbles of the past. But I wear those garbs. Layers of this body. First you see those flashy colors, something like a peacock. And when you undress me, when I undress you’ll read the parchment that is my skin. You’ll see the broken flesh in scars carved by my family. By my dangers in the world when I had no protection. And beneath that, beneath all that is the nakedness I have shown on rare occasions. Naked bodies rubbed like wooden sticks may make bonfires but naked souls mingle like cocktails and the night sky. I’ve shown you my vulnerability when you first said I loved you. When you first kissed the taste off my lips and since yours have had that hint of tamarind and fire. I laid bare for you. Undressed my skin and bones, my marrow has no say in this passion. And I have known the astrology of your body since we charted the stars. Undress yourself. So we may admire constellations unknown to humanity. To the gods themselves.