body to bodies
the white nights make me feel the warmth in my eyes. the nights where i restrain myself from withering, where coldness and body heat can meet a certainty, but the moment your body grows warmer, it trembles. the wind opens your pores to scar the face. the electric waves of each force rises, so as the reaction of its tension between the body and the air, the one that makes you weak— the eye that cheats on you to shed a tear.
they say that being sober at midnight makes you restless. eyes wide open, unbothered, as the time and darkness becomes light. the dusk of the sky eventually makes you shiver, but it won't be enough to end you: rather, keeps you up all night long. fog clings to your skin, leaving you with deep breaths. heart beats louder than the wind, almost banging your ears to mute you. you're probably smelling the scent of kalachuchi in the midst of your wandering, it won't creep you out because it reminded you how fresh a flower can be without a sunlight, how gloomy the scent it is to be in the dark.
it's almost dawn. later, sun will shine, but how suffocating it is to feel the cold air inside the house. how often do i sleep with a hollowness in my throat? how shallow of thoughts do i need to rest with a steady mind?
to keep awake at night is to build a flame that almost ignites us; it traces the skin, it warms the cold nights. and still, you let it touch you just to know how much it pains.
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