I see her neck. How beautiful! It is soft, and I know that it smells like fresh honey. From my desk, I see it through the window. She has her glasses in her hand, sitting with her back straight and golden bangs that fall lazily down the gentle slope. She is staring at the computer screen, concentrating; she does not move.
And I realize that the profile I contemplate is worthy of sculpture: a perfect nose, small and well-formed, centered eyes, green as shallow waters of a paradisiacal Caribbean or Aegean island. No, the Aegean Sea fits better. She oozes intelligence like Hypatia. I imagine her in a Mediterranean dress from the classic period — white, loose, with only a small belt around her waist. She looks nice! And a diadem that highlights that beautiful golden hair a second sun. Hair that gushes forth from its head full of intelligence and love. It was her hair that most attracted me and made me fall in love. I remember the first time I saw her. Precisely that color, stand out among the crowd, caught my attention. She strolled, looking with intelligent eyes, admiring the shops of the Turkish market. Everything there was well placed: well-ordered spices, aroma mixed in a storm of penetrating sensations, elegant vendors dressed in beautiful multicolored garments, well-bearded cared. The full experience.
Suddenly she turns around. She stares at me and doesn’t blush. She gives me a splendorous smile from her desk. She loves me, heartily. I know the same about her. I am grateful that she is a mature woman: she knows that love is not just butterflies in the stomach but how to give and receive, how to be patient and, above all, she knows that we are a team looking to reach the end of the goal together. Sometimes I think about that last day: I don’t know if I could go on without her.
She gets up and comes to me, walking undulant. She is barefoot. I see her beautiful feel slowly treading the mahogany, her white teeth illuminating a captivating smile that, if need be, would disarm the Garde Impériale in an instant. She sits on my lap and kisses me gently. I feel her lips soft and sweet, drinking from her mouth the elixir of life, which fills my soul. Her fingers caress me behind my head; she moves gently. Delightful. What a woman! I let her go. What comes is a mature love, not the impetus of past years. It is a good wine. We know each other well, and now we take ourselves, like savoring a Chateau Petrus, slowly, enjoying every sip.
She lets me see his perfect neck, seasoned with perfume brought from some exotic land. Its sun is released, and its rays fall on me and fill me with a delicious aroma. I get lost in an instant: the ephemeral eternity. She stares at me, and I immerse myself in her sight as in the sea. It carries me with gentle waves. I see her face full, and I thank life for having her by my side. I dock in those beautiful ports that stare at me while we meet again in a kiss. I sink my hands into his scented vine. My fingers are little foxes hiding in the thicket, ready to jump into a multicolored meadow. Our breathing is shaky. I feel the swing of the invisible, the faint breath of summer, which refreshes the moment about to happen. She descend into me. Slowly she reaches out and nibbles my ear like a lioness testing prey. The feeling fills me with life. I can glimpse behind the neckline of her dress her beautiful breasts, soft and firm hills, beautifully finished in those great tips. The color is surprising, like a strawberry on the top of a cake. My heart is pounding. Hers too. I feel its fast pace. My hand begins to drop from the sky and suddenly a howl! Like the cry of a soul in pain, asking to return to heaven. It takes us a single moment to understand. It is our sprout of love. Cry hard! Like Apollo mourning the loss of one of his lovers. We look at each other gently and, without saying a word, we gather around the cradle of our beloved god.