En el amor en su ausencia las palabras se volvieron hacia dentro transfiguradas como agua que no se ve.
Llevamos metidos como dos gatos mordidos, intrusos, imprevistos, del cuello. Se nos hacen noche nuestros cuerpos. Se nos hacen día fuera. Nos tocan, nos dejan huella. Son tramas de viento en el cuerpo, como travesías dentro.
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