Thursday, June 28, 2007

Red Moon

We`re lying in hammock strapped between two trees. I `m scratching her forearm with my fingertips and her head is resting on my naked chest.

Night breeze blows away the smell of fervor.

- Our garden. - she says.

- Our garden. - I repeat and then deeply, deeply, into even the farthest alveoli breathe in the musky scent of her hair.

- I have to go home. - she whispers.

- I know.

Blood moon hangs from the horizon.

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