For the love that my eyes offered you
you detached yourself from that ancient painting
to feel what life tastes like.
My life, which was also yours.
Your canvas was never the same again
it felt empty without your graceful figure
that blue dress carved you perfectly.
But nothing was the same
in that plane of colors
without your presence.
The beings of that imagined world
searched for you with desperation
because you were the best thing they had inside.
The only little woman in the painting.
For me on the other hand
you were always an illusion,
a constant sigh,
an admiration for your texts,
a desire for your kisses.
I also liked to see you in the painting
because you had so much life in there
it seemed a lie to me
that you were made of vinyl.
When I finally managed to have you with me
made of my own skin and bone
what I liked most was to embrace you.
Your little body of juice
dissolved in my arms.
And when I squeezed it too tightly;
oxytocin flowed abundantly.
What better narcotic love;
than your freshly bathed body
with scented soap.
YOU ARE READING
My loves, Love of my home
RomanceI had the amusing task of managing eight girlfriends; Colita blanquita, Colita negrita, Huesita radioactiva, Intensita enamorada, Anita la preciosa, Larguita la prima, Inquieta perversa and Pasmadita solapada. This risky undertaking was developed du...
