El amor amenaza con salir por donde no sale el sol; rodea tu cama, hace la danza del velo, y promete placer eterno. Ya tuve la fiebre de tu perfume. Ya tuve tu carne en la boca. Tu saliva y líquido recobraba. Chillaba la cama como gatos negros en celo. Se movía el techo como una manta al viento. Y la sequedad del aire se humedecía con nuestras lenguas.
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