NIGHTWALKING AND ALONE You will never know, It passed through your life like a hurricane wind of summer. At his whim he

NIGHTWALKING AND ALONE You will never know, It passed through your life like a hurricane wind of summer. At his whim he opened floodgates, forgotten and still, and unleashed a storm. While facing the window your eyes stop on this strange autumn light about to decline the day and your hand begins to wake up you remember his elusive look, his smile, the rictus of his mouth, the gesture of his fingers, his eyebrow arched in a rhetorical question as the lips opened to smilethe sharp, sculptural nosethe profile that You looked curled up in the gap of the hug. While you close your eyes, you release the book, away from the lap your hand stops for a moment on the back of your neck, then your fingers go down slowly winding down your neck. meanwhile, you remember the smell of his lips, the warmth of her neck, the infinite tenderness with which her hand rested on her hip and was slipping. No, he didn't even know. He will never know your name. They were twenty-four ecstatic hours, night and day, sleeping, dreaming, waking up, longing, feeling, returning, growing, entangled the sweat soaking the sheets, soaking the bodies, slipping, the mouths lacerated from searching, the body defeated from arching.falling and rising of the dream over and over and over and over Today, looking back and remembering, you know, it won't be never able to know the storm he unleashed. You will never know his name. You remember and the heat begins to flutter between your legs, It hides in your belly, and you breathe deeply, slowly... and your chest does not It gives you to keep this stifled sigh, you tremble, you raise your hands and you squeeze, you squeeze while you moan I'm alone, the book has slipped from my skirt, which is curling between my legs, my blouse unbuttoned to the button at the waist.like a dream I have been undressing without knowing itI am almost naked .and I have plenty of what I he took. When the soul is still, the skin rests defenseless, pampered, calm and equanimous, oscillating only by the touch of a garment, the sweater that falling rubs more than it should and gives you live nipples, the pants that corners the waist and circles it, the zipper that tightens like a second skin to the curve of your pubis...the bra that I unclasp with an exhale of more with a liberation that no voyeur can see Alone And you lie naked between your sheets. You decide that it is not day to be covered, you decide that you give up the friction of the clothes, you decide that You want the sheets to adapt to your body, comfort it, give it fullness, all cells being gently caressed Very well-known space, your space at last... where you project your you long and you respond to yourself. Your hand begins a journey, almost ritual, almost, it stops in the curve of the breastsand you press and then slide your index finger along the contour, along the very edge of your breasts, you hold on, your breathing slows shoot, the nostrils capture all the smell that you yourself emanate, you You know, you know yourself, you know that you're starting to not be able to stand up. ,You corner a nipple and soft, and insistently, you rub, the nipple rebels and grows you knead its texture, you adapt to its rhythm, one and the other, The lips open as the hair spreads across the pillow and a leg rises freeing you from the inaccurate weight of the sheet. The palms of your hands come to your chest, almost like a feather, almost without touching them, they leave a trail on the nipples, and they go down. only two Fingers show the way, belly down, you want to get there.but your fingers decide walk around the groinsyour open legs receive your fingers, your hand that caresses the inner part of the thighs from the knee to the pubis—that part forgotten.it gives you back your desires. But they still don't want your own hands, you They make you sweat, you want, you delay. And you moan.you know what you want.the groin is a way, you know it you stop on it, you make yourself suffer, you make yourself stay in the premotion of the intermission and you moan and arch yourself you almost scream. Your hand, five fingers eager to feel, reopen and occupy, They grip, they go up and down, they move painfully... you hear a moan and you continue, at the slow pace, another moan and you continue,... your legs have closed, capturing your hand that begins to execute an overwhelming rhythm. The thigh muscles do their job your fingers, your handand you tremble Another moan. You stay naked on life, on the sheet...the music It was sold out a long time ago..you start to get chillsyou pull the sheets, You turn off the lamp, silent witness of your intimate orgy and you know that today you will be able dream..with the smell of her skin, with the taste of her kisses, with the memory ..your own tongue gives you a kiss. It's late . Sleep, dream.your hands are, your skin and your own desire. I sleep, I dream.. my hands are, my skin and my own desire