By me and BananaSolar
I would laugh, until the bland grace would calm down in my belly, our astral maps would begin to talk on their own, and I would try to be quite serious out of nowhere, to disguise the silliness … then you would laugh, I think. Our black flame suns would call for each other, and my mind would slide through your pupils curious to know, not in a hurry to find anything that would end this mystery of looking, a little anxious to find us … I would feel the space suddenly Of your silence to admire … not the silly girl and concerned to please, but all the delicate wonders that life reveals itself, like an eternal woman stripping herself … caprices to lovers of their simpler tastes
what taste it was?
From a pitanga. Perhaps the one that in acidic soils of a warm reality that could manage and generate much less than the sweet and reddish pulp, moist like the kiss and soft as the touch to which the subjects are subject to feel the heat of the meat and the delight of the Passion, perfumed with ether
What perfume it had?
Of forest, reforested with the innumerable invasions, resilient in the dust that remains, laughing at each other in the dewy and hot perspiring, insane reality that the wind, sober or drunken, without regret, despite the density of their bowels
Yes. Guts. When the beast is pinned and opened by voracious passion, it jumps upward: heart racing, a lung tired of hyperventilating the anxieties of the encounter, a stomach full of butterflies. From the inside out, the body shakes, from the bowels to the blood that warms and weaves the epidermis that shivers as the fire inside becomes the outside.
From the innards, strange, to the smile of two strangers who find themselves in strange conditions.
What conditions are these?
Nothing ideal … pathetic, would be serious if it were not the scratched groans of the cats climbing on the roof, which gave a whole tone of doubt, whether it was day at night, or night of sun … but, what the heck?