BREAD IN THE CATALONIAN MANNER

with hard determined fingers I squeeze like an ass the half of a freshly ripened tomato, the skin of the fingers on the light-red membrane under the pressure I feel resistance, then suddenly –

it yields, a light-blood juice gushes from it, and is absorbed into the hot, coarse, pale, thirsty like the earth bread

THE BALTIC SEA

waves a pulse. white delicate thighs white delicate sand. a touch of souls a light uneven wind from the north-east. a sketch of remembering the damp of the shoreline. a return.

***

She lies beside me, between the sheets and the darkness.

My silver liquid pours slowly out of her. She pulsates. Breathes. On my right the cold white wall, that I warm with my thigh and shoulder I do not close my eyes.

Translated by Ulvija Tanović

[predhodna stranica][sadržaj][sljedeća stranica]