My Harvest Moons

Sometimes, my eyes become huge like two moons and want to absorb everything, and everything seems to fit inside them. Their lashes scrape against the wind with every blink and my eyebrows raise disdainfully like the legs of a ballerina, my nose wrinkles up mystically, the volcanoes beneath my cheekbones explode and I bite my lips, thirsty for honey, hungry for warmth and another’s lips. Now and again, I forget about the imagined monsters and the ghosts of faraway houses, then my back straightens, arching ambitiously, my hips become promiscuous dancers and my defiant alabaster legs break through fears with every step. Some nights, I do not recognize myself and prefer not to, I only want to let myself be carried away by the sudden bubbling impulse that inebriates me. At times my moons become so restless that they, like lighthouses, curiously scan the streets, bars, and seas of other moons for mutual desire. Nothing troubles me but everything seduces me, corrupts me, and reduces me to the ultimate puzzle seeking to be solved, only between another’s sheets.

That’s why, when you see my moons light up like this, like comets, sparkling and rotund with secrets, as if it were October in the middle of May and all of my vernal skin could be contained in a dry autumn leaf, do not avert your gaze for an instant, hold it firm, challenging me, bite your lips and take me away with you, because this will be the only night that I… belong to you. 

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Translated by  Marie Garcia

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