Mexican Princess

The beauty with a rose tattoo on her neck. I once told her I'd write her a poem and called her my Mexican Princess. She was beautiful, my millennial chola, and I knew exactly why I was drawn to her.

I've loved a woman before and learned how wild that love can be. My Geji never fought—she left that to me. But this one? She'd probably beat my ass if I missed her call. A fighter, just like me. I know exactly how it would end—moving trucks constantly in our driveway, her beauty clashing with the heart I would inevitably break.

Still, I can't stop looking at her with desire. If you've never seen two female lovers in a fistfight, you don't know how dangerous it is for one woman to love another. There's no question about the passion she could ignite, but I did't want to find myself on YouTube, scrapping with a woman I once swore I loved.

NP