Yesterday I invented a mental land, is a complete world. For live in with no ghosts. And all the cold colors are made with the spectrum of your eyes. And we eat grapes while lovin. The wharf is all mist. There is a chant, of a seagull looking for a lost mermaid. My breast is open wide and your trembling hand paint red woods that float onto the sky and then descend and concentrate into my nipples. Your saliva is the perfect rain for making them grow. We have 111 children, all of us. One was born with a kiss, other with a smile, the youngest one came with the breath of our noses together while our sleeping time. This children are wild and turn into waves at the sunrise. They only know to look at us, because they are memories that never happened as facts. But I still love them. Because they are yours and mine. And they only know how to look speechless at us. Maybe the lack of their voices is what delays the onset of winter. / .There is only one problem with my beautiful mental land. Is orbiting on a space of shadows, and I can't sleep, trying to enlight it. I am afraid, I got fear and spasms. I don't know what will happen if I sleep. I feel sorry thinking that, maybe, when I wake up, there will be nothing else but this hard movement and no more land. Nothing else but this blind movement whose sinergy brought me to the vertigo and the needing of inventing sorta paradise. / .My real land, the body with your taste, and your absence, the body with your touch and your silence. And a broken heart. / .Yesterday I invented a mental land, but I haven´t slept in three nights, and we, the land and I, are fading with the candle of the night between the echoes of the lions roar.
