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As túas balas » Blog Archive » maná

Un é baixote, meloso e compositor de música que está a piques de marchar pra connecticut. O outro é altón e de movementos torpes, e traballa de tradutor nunha empresa de fibra óptica lonxe de aquí. O azar fai que coincidamos no mesmo espazo, e que ao remate, logo de acariñármonos levemente as costas, lle vaiamos estrear a cama de convidados a Senalcume. Cando chega a alba estamos medio cubertos da colcha. Sinto un brazo por detrás da caluga, e unha perna e outra man cruzadas sobre o ventre. Uns centímetros por riba da miña cabeza as súas están a piques de bicarse sobre a almofada. Se alguén ulise o cadro de sabas revoltas percibiría seme, cervexa e pouso de fume a partes iguais. Pero esquezamos o olor: abonda con seguir esas raioliñas de luz que entran pola persiana e que pousan sobre tres peles brancas e distintas: abenzoada sexa a vida por todas as súas farturas.


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