She closed her eyes and remembered the night before he left for the mountains.
She laid naked on her back and he laid between her knees.
He kissed her softly on her thighs, his lips and breath brushing against her skin.
With the kisses he whispered a poem from Pablo Neruda.
Amo el trozo de tierra que tú eres,
porque de las praderas planetarias
otro estrella no tengo tú repites
la multíplicación del universo.
I love the handful of the earth you are.
Because of it's meadows, vast as a planet,
I have no other star. You are my replica
of the multiplying universe.
“Amo el trozo de tierra que tú eres.”
- trevor scott barton, stories for a brown-eyed girl, 2020
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