After so many searches he found her
she was eating tangerines and was
laughing gently reminding him
of Juliet whom he imagined hardening
his cock with strong hands, hands
as pale as a dead woman’s how they stay
as in a sarcophagus with double bottom
imagining what both of them suffered
at the death of them both in the space
of another grave with his being.
They felt good a bit excited. But now
during the vernissage it’s very different
he suffers secretly, discreetly in the mouth
he has a bitterish taste. “I drink your blood,
my beloved,” he says in his mind, “I eat
your bones because I love you, I could add
forever.” He had located her in front
of a portrait photograph taken by a riotous
writer she threw puddles of brown
voluptuousness over the poses, her breasts
were rising like some volcanoes full of admiration
she was morphing into foam of voluptuousness
across a barbarous sky and she scratched
at her knees, hot legs of Diana eternally
on the run with her red strong bow
hands hunting for unicorns and for rabbits
she asks for their nectar in murmur
she was wearing maddening mini shorts
that another one except for him who overtook
her in a rush agonizing because he had taken
them off till this hour. He was ready to approach
her but she ran away casting amorous twinkling
glances at him, his dream was grasping them, was
swallowing them. Juliet had the brilliant idea
of pushing him under a portal and she began
sucking his cock with very much and delicate
knowledge. They were rising to the sky
on the stairs of a shout of ecstasy. She was
weeping. Exhausted dead he saw himself
along with her in a sarcophagus eating
oranges.
“What are you thinking about?” she asked him.
“I was thinking that our walking would be
more pleasant if we were in love with each other.”
“Come, I’ve got an idea.” And she pushed him
into a bush. They lay down on the ground.
“Ah, don’t, don’t let me hear your voice anymore.”
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