Relatos breves de Victoria Morrison
Dos retratos en dos marcos diferentes, dos fechas de nacimiento, dos nacionalidades, dos identidades. Ella no abraza a los árboles, los besa apasionadamente, la sangre que brota de su boca rota es savia dulce.
Dos retratos en dos marcos diferentes, dos fechas de nacimiento, dos nacionalidades, dos identidades. Ella no abraza a los árboles, los besa apasionadamente, la sangre que brota de su boca rota es savia dulce.
Am I really here, watching the miracle of my fertile land or is it my mind that imitates to the dying man who escapes from the barren land
and look for the seed to save the world?
From afar he looked like a man
It was a shadow in the form of a man
From afar he looked like a poet, It was a form of man, with the voice of a poet, In the light he looked like an angel
In the dark
Repugnant
smelly
I liked
Come! Come my love!