The smell of freshly baked bread in the nights when the ocean howls.
The moon’s eyes linger on my neck.
The kitchen is hot.
Your eyes rest on the buttons of my dress.
One eye faces the sacred.
The other craves for the profane.
I call into being the taste of that which is hidden below the existence.
The breath of a salty ocean on the skin.
Everything is here between primal and the infinity of possibilities: the epistemes of love; the essence of beauty; the whispers of a language you cannot understand.
You need me in your bones.
The moon needs me in her naked light.
image: Mariia aiiraM; Shutterstock; [link]
@short-prose-fiction (Gabriela Marie Milton)