Mami, no idea how that culo talks
when it sways under neon, drop-top moon,
wet gloss on the paint, tambores in my trunk—
I just press play, let the 808 confess.
Tu boca steals my English, spits it back en fuego;
I’m baptized in tequila, crucified on your tempo.
No entiendo half the chaos que me hipnotiza,
but every curse you whisper lands like scripture—
holy, filthy, mine.