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She says, “Como se llama?” and he replies, “I have no name, what do you wish to call me?”
Questions weighing on questions, she wraps her legs around his waste like a partial womb. His eyes squint and readjust focus. Weaving his fingers in the hair that is behind her neck, he clenches it teeth and pulls her face close. His breath touches her before the kiss. Moistness mixes and dreams drown the light, the chair he sat in, the soldiers with the guns outside, everything drowned in one humming ecstasy.
Latter they are found lying lazily in a room, like all other rooms, dark, dimly lited, and thick with a subtle sent of sage. She says, “I think I have something en mey eye”. He moves close to see what it is that is. A small hair of an eyelash is wetly laid against the moist white skin of the outer iris. He gently rubs his finger against her eye and slides the small hair out. She winks, fast and intensely to see if it worked. She looks up with eyes still watery and says, “Thanks”.
Sitting across the room she picks at the residual of her badly painted toe nails. She looks up to him and asks, “Por que viniste to mey apartment?”
He says, “You asked me to.”
“verdad”
“Didn’t you?”
“Supango maybe I did”
Silence strands itself for a few seconds and then he stares into her eyes a little longer, she smiles, and the drowning begins again. The broken windows of her apartment let just the right amount of air move in from the ocean. She says, “I love you...usted tiene una bonita...mmm...smile”. She continues to smile, and returns back to the picking of the nail polish. He tells her, “You act like a child in bed”. "Que dijo?", she stills her actions and waits and then begins to crawl on her hands and knees slowly across the room, while he stands in absolute stillness. She slowly puts her lips to his ear, breaths, and then recoils away from the ear, and forcefully bits his lower lip and lets goes.
She says, “You are my codero, pacífica” She grabs a flash light from under the pile of clothes in the corner of her room and says, “sígueme”. They head out the back, there are lambs wandering towards the setting light of the moon. She turns to him and reaches down below his waste line while he calmly admires the hills in the moon light; she touches with her slightly cold hand, exchanging heat with the temperature of that which lies below.
The pale moonlight coated what was beginning to be the fog of dawn. She held him in her hand, and in her mouth, and her motherhood beamed. Being next to his side and knowing that she will always be his guide is what caused them both to strip naked in the open field. The haze danced and twisted above their bodies. All the songs that they will have to sing will be sung alone with that foretold breakdown. But this story is not about him, but me, Ella the Mother with all the god stirring children.