THE BLIND, HER LOVER
The body is a lamp. She sheds her light on me. The flame flickers: my body appears, disappears in the room’s darkness. She cannot see my flame, but she can feel the warmth on her eyelids. Before expiring, our light turns blue. We are the darkest house on the island.
When I cease breathing is when I see with greater clarity. When air runs out in the body is when your image becomes sharper in my eyes. When oxygen abandons my body and I slowly lose consciousness, I know that you see me in the same radiance in which I see you. Each one’s thought remains fixed on the image of this final second. Then, the void.
In the gaze of the blind woman, there is a black fish that slowly swims towards the light. The fish is sharp as a scalpel. I feel it approach me, skimming the tip of my member.
She caresses the scar on the nape of my neck. Her fingers read those letters in relief. She whispers into my ear what her fingers decipher. Over and over again. It’s a name I have never heard, infected with the cloyingly sweet venom of vowels.
The name of a river or a city? The name of a woman or a virus? The pain buried in the old burn stirs awake. Her tongue glazes the scar with a fresh light that no one can see.
She floats in her blindness like a swimmer that faking her death in a swimming pool. Blindness suspends her body in the center of illuminated waters. It is forbidden for me to approach her. I dip my hand into the water and open a circle, a wave that will break without a sound against her skin.
We are the last petals of the flower of emptiness. Our skin becomes clear, the clarity of a deformed glass that holds the impurities of air. Which one of us two will be the first to fall? I ask myself and I ask you. Here comes the wind.