Aura

occasional y shifting your glance so that Aura won't catch you in the hypnotized stare that you can't control. You'd like to fix the girl's features in your mind. Every time you look away you forget them again, and an irresistible urge forces you to look at her once more.

You stop holding your breath and run your hand through your dark, limp hair; you touch your fine profile, your lean cheeks; and when your breath hides your face again you're repeating her name: "Aura."

fol ow

the rustle of her skirt, the rustle of taffeta, and you're anxious now to look into her eyes again.

those eyes do surge, do change, as if offering you a landscape that only you can see and desire.

But you can't deceive yourself: those eyes do surge, do change, as if offering you a landscape that only you can see and desire.

you can't deceive yourself: those eyes do surge, do change, as if offering you a landscape that only you can see and desire.

You look around and a girl is standing there, a girl whose whole body you can't see because she's standing so close to you and her arrival was so un expected, without the slightest sound — not even those sounds that can't be heard but are real anyway because they're remembered immediately afterwards, because in spite of everything they're louder than the silence that accompanies them.

The gods are like men:

they are born and they die

on a woman's breast . . .