My body is not in your arms. My name is not in your song. Your smell comes and goes throughout my day, as I become skin or mind.

My body floats and I swim, I slide through the waters. I notice that fluid touch surrounding me, and it is not your body. It is the drops that kiss my shoulders, my belly, my back. It’s not your fingers that caress my legs, it’s the water in which I swim without losing rithm or effort… that doesn’t take me to you.

My body dances and it’s not with you; it spins and streches, undulates and moves to the sound of music that is not your voice, and I don’t hear your whispers in my ear, which would make the back of my neck crawl… But, I dance, without knowing that a body alone cannot speak the dialogue that we lack.

Where is my body? My body alone is not still, it is not asleep, it does not rest in the calm of after. And it wonders.

My body wonders how thirst it endures in the desert, how much mirage deceives the need, before abandoning itself, lying on a dry and devastated sand, where caress, nor dance, nor desire, nor love is possible.

And it is not your body that surrounds me, but the night. Incapable of taking human form, it will offer me some dream that brings me closer to your figure, but not your flesh; that matter that is not there and that doesn’t have me, that cannot make alchemy with my elements, my basic elements… those that would come out of the water to meet your mouth.