Sud
Express
What's
the matter with trains?
Is
there a disposable vertigo swirling inside one's veins, is there?
Anything
as cocoon's threads weaving a helmet around one's head?
A
way out, an emergency exit, please, just in case you freak out before
arrival at some safe place and I'm bemusedly absent, scratching my
own groin and
by
the time Gare d'Austerlitz leaks out of the frenzied view, I could be
exploring the sweetness of your eyes, tongue in tongue, persuading
flavors to reprogram my sensory papillae, exquisitely bathing the
inner landscape of your thighs with the sound of skin addicted kisses
and the rumor of balsa tree leaves, waving, outside
at
me, through the mat glass.
So,
what's the matter with me? Have I spun the memory all too fast, the
memory traveling inside that train?
Awkwardly
speaking, shall I check Thomas Cook one more time?
©
2014, José Eduardo Coelho
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