How smoothly and how sweetly
she lifts me from the bed where I was dreaming
of profound and fragrant fields,
she runs her fingers over my skin and sketches me
in space, suspended, until the kiss
alights curved and recurrent
a slow flame kindling
the rhythmic dance of the bonfire
weaving us together in flashes, in spirals,
going and coming in a storm of smoke—
(So why is
what’s left of me, afterwards,
just a sinking into ashes
without a goodbye, with nothing more than a gesture
of letting our hands go free?)
poetry: Julio Cortazar
art: Alice Alicja Cieliczka; drawing - pencil on paper
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