salt between my fingers, that at Christmas increasingly scarce the wind in your hair
a friend new friend too new to be said, too close to stay away from my thoughts
and myself
skin
skin exposed
goosebumps
dark skin
feet on the cold floor
Hugo, my nephew, so young, half a world away
Hugh, my father dealt with internally, as if I had eaten chunks, sweet and bitter, overcooked and cold, to be sure not to forget anything about him
caresses, at the end of the evening, at the close of the festival, at the end of the road, in the middle of the night, sleep in the middle of
tired
all alone
open windows
air slamming
hands on
words ear
plan, you plan
a secret for two
a desire, a
old on the day that passes without tearing noiselessly without nightmares
new one that comes without mozzicate ass
ice water in his face
cold feet, sheets
wet hands between her thighs
eq T his winter has just begun and already is too much.
And everything else is missing.
Merry Christmas.
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