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"How no waiting meandering movements in the afternoon, observing only the lips are opening to let out more than the air?. How no think in the things that happened in the night when the eyes are opened to compete with the moonlight?. Today, before the spring, when the moon is yellow and the valley is hot in Thursday, words draw naked bodies, close eyes and voices without phrases. Sound can be placed in a sketch of femininity. Naked bodies can be our own body, always beautiful, ever sufficient to all our desires.

Silence arrives in the end of the evening. A taste of tamarind juice remains in the mouth, the scent of flowers and other bodies, sure, the heat of the city and a landscape with mountains and trees without any breeze. A darkness by times inside a room and the music of all world that accompanies the simple breath leaves the chest. Close eyes and finally an only phrase: more. After for an only one time, more.

It is possible to write all dreams in the painting of a breast. Stories of closed eyes and parted lips. White canvases of skin to get traces of kisses and caresses. Forbidden words written with sweat and sex. Closed eyes letting see in the semi-darkness of a room with the shivering skin. And now, when all light arrives in the real life, only the silence makes a point in the tale. The afternoon is finish and the light of the city pierces the curtains to broke the dark. Eyes are open now and the dream is finish. Meandering movements are part of the a past and after, the story can be confused with a fictitious tale in the end of the afternoon before any trip. Same the trip, it may be is a memory of something that never existed.

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