Miele e cioccolato
Walking through the Barrio de las Letras, I have often wondered how it would live there, in one of those great houses large balconies, verandas sort of style Liberty overlooking the passers-by.
Now I know.
I did not think that one of my roommates there was never even a grand piano, and instead I had to change my mind. Just a shame not to know to play.
I awake every morning stretching under a crystal chandelier in the nineteenth century sparkle in the sun, half-blind I turn to look for a familiar body, still unconscious, I just touch it closes in a warm embrace. Then I close my eyes again, postponing the sun for a while '. Mraw .
Miele part ... a couple of days ago I was near Plaza Mayor, and I stopped to wait novio and mother-in-law in the street where did flamenco. At first I was bored a bit ': there was only a growling guitar chords and a singer whose chilly vocals were lost in the crowd. I was about to leave when she appeared . A slim figure and slim has left the stool where he was resting, dismissed the bun to the top of the head and started to beat his hands slightly, moving in time.
I was impaled in the middle of the street to watch her dance to the last shot of clam. I wished that my eardrums stretched to swallow, so to be a sensitive carpet on which I would put every dance step. Beautiful above the eyes, as thick as chocolate and lively as that gave the shivers ... I clinked my heart at her feet, one of the few currencies that distracted through the cast.
I wondered what was the boundary between art and sensuality, passion and contemplation: she was a human being and also a summary of all forms of sensible beauty.
In the end I left only a few thousand sighs and tears, unable to pay the price of my emotions. A few cents would have offended the crack in his heart that a simple wrist shot gave me.
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