Dematerialisation
written by: Gabriela M
@shortprose1
It was a sort of dematerialization that left behind the scent of orange blossoms and the vague memory of sultry afternoons growing by the margins of the pond: those afternoons in need for seed germination. I am sure you can remember them.
You and your love for me which have always looked for my blood. I told you I am air and therefore I do not have a body. I fill the space in which other bodies manifest themselves.
I am every breath you take in your nights of love when you think you love other women. Have you ever noticed how blue and humid is the air you breathe between two kisses? That’s me.
Oh, I agree. Sometimes I may look like plum lips and other times like tiny specs of red wine sprinkled on your shirt. Those are the times when the moon is full, and the cicadas’ wings listen to the vibrations coming from the membrane of their own abdomens.
It’s summer: pink roses, fresh lips, quiet balconies.
May I have my black nightgown back? I want to feel its silkiness against my skin.
Oh, you are right.
I do not need it. I do not have a body.
Is it my imagination or your breath just got heavier?
- Dematerialisation - September 23, 2020
- Son of The Desert - July 31, 2020
- If I Say I Love You - June 19, 2020
