Aroma of cherry cigars permeates the room.
Miguel’s tensed body lies against the bedroom door; his eyes closed; his jaw taut; perspiration trickling on his golden skin.
I continue reading Jacques’ candid letter:
“Clara, I saw you through the window of my soul. I cracked the window to inhale you from afar; to get drunk in your freesia scented hair. Just for a moment. A whirling wind blew in intoxicating scents of the rain-forest: palms filled with sweet red berries, enormous wimba trees fogged in ancient legends, raindrops of violet orchids; anacondas coiling on the soil. I choked. I couldn’t help it, Clara!”
I stop. Grief.
Miguel’s eyes open; forgotten green clouds and thunder foment inside.
I walk toward him. Slowly I start unbuttoning his shirt. My lips touch his humid skin. He does not move. His breath accelerates, his eyes stare into nowhere. Filled with pain, his voice resonates inside me.
“I love you.”
Excerpt from the manuscript Glass Lovers
- wimba trees are among the tallest tress in the Amazon Rain-forest.