Rosita, light of my life, fire of my loins. My sin, my soul. Ro-see-ta: the tip of the tongue taking a trip of three steps down the palate to tap, at three, on the teeth. Ro. See. Ta.
She was Ro, plain Ro, in the morning, standing five feet six in one sock. She was Rose in slacks. She was Rosa on the dotted line. But in my arms she was always Rosita.