and I gladly climbed to his house, gladly I gave up the coat in the entrance, gladly followed him as he walks with his safe step and while he goes touches the things that are his, (the drawer, a quick look at the cards, collects a newspaper sitting in the chair, touches the table) and docile I followed him that the house was warm, the low lights, all silence.
I feel like at home, almost at my house, but I cannot describe it, that privacy must be respected and I speak so of everyone and nobody.
(but I will describe it to you one day this house, with large spaces, precious objects, significant things of a adult life and all those things that a single man can afford to keep around for the pleasure of seeing them and touching them while a woman no, especially a woman with two children like me, who must eliminate as much as possible, take away what makes dust, that can break, that clump, and have to make room to leave space to
I turned on the stereo, which I had in mind the song of Modà, and the stereo has the new speakers, which are small and feels great, and I put a cd in the stereo and I hear the noise of pots in the kitchen, dishes that sound slammed, – that I offer you? – I have thirst, give me a drink of wine...
Once I drank some wine and the wine came directly to the brain, it stunned me without completely eliminating my lucidity, it allowed me to free some brakes I had, and with a light gesture I took off my shoes and happy I did things that otherwise I would not have done, and also the sex "was better" (and how horrible the word is to succeed when it is close to the word sex, as if it were a goal even that to conquer, to me to be poorer
I like the wine: the glass is crystal, all around it is clean, the bubbles go fast, he opened for me a bottle of sweet sparkling, I prefer the dry, the taste of asprignate that lace leaves that bitter bottom in the mouth, but I don’t like to tell Alpha I thirst and drink, and maybe I want to say things to him tonight, and maybe I think that wine could help So I asked Gambelunghe if for pleasure he went to get me a coffee and a brioche and she had gone dancing, that so too she distracts and takes a few steps out, and he brought me my American coffee that I had drunk while checking my bills and I had also identified the bri
He looks at me.
I breathe.
and he puts his hand in my neckline and keeps it there, a moment that then does to extract it, but I lock it, with a steel grip I lock his hand. And I smile.
Finally, enough words, I can no more than words, thoughts that go and come, things to decide, plans, accounts to pay, children, dogs, bills, clothes in disorder, a life rushed, I can no longer understand how I have to move to make me less badly possible: now I have his hand among my breasts and there I hold it with my steel grip.
Infondo io scrivo per lui le mie poesie: ho il cuore appensantito e la sua mano sul mio seno mi solleva e mi stordisce e il vino non mi serve, veramente non mi serve più.
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