As a cistern, he contains. As a fountain, he overflows. A balance of reason and emotion that is hard to keep and so he doesn´t, he simply is, a God in his own private world.
There is Sun in his eyes, sun shining strong after rain, caught in puddled water, reflected on the yellowish mud so warm. It feels like summer, barefoot splashing on puddle and the mud seeping among your toes. He feels like childhood pranks on summer vacations.
Hazel eyes of cat-like vivacity.
He smells like summer too, like sea and sand, ocean breeze in the tangles of his hair, Always unruly, wild and as lively as his eyes. His hair has a mind of its own, never a comb to tame it.
No wrinkles around his eyes and mouth, but those of smiles and rage, cause he wears his emotions on his sleeve, it seems, and it is sad, cause he is much more than he seems, he doesn´t know himself.
As he slices the air, furiously gesticulating, I follow the rhythm of his voice, and I drift back to my own adolescence, minus the pain. He has that soothing effect on me. Why?
He almost pulls my hair from its roots, he sinks his teeth on my shoulder, my breasts, even on my chin. He twists my arms while I am on top of him, the stallion riding the amazon, and I drift… on the glassy surface of his hazel eyes, of the wilderness of his hair…
His lazy sprawl on the bed is akin to a form of love. He pulls my hand to his head, so I can give him that peculiar caress that 10 in 10 Brazilians enjoy, and when I stop, he asks me for more, like a boy. There is a boy in every man that´s worth the sex.
With him I let myself go, like a flower offered to Yemanjá on New Year´s Eve. I trust him, even when he doesn´t trust himself. And so I wait for time suspended in a breath, for a moment of complete oblivion, when I am not, Ms. Nothing, a heartbeat slower and I know I won´t die, not at his hands, or at least, not alone.
There is a little incest in our touch, an understanding which works on a deeper level than with anybody else, where we flirt with each other´s insanity and find Peace. Oh, Brother, how I love the paradox we present!
Together we learned a few firsts, and we later wondered why those things weren´t always as good with other people. We had to figure that out and we grew in our strange sexual intelligence, enhanced an erotic lexicon that was first founded and best expressed in our complicity.
Brother whose body is filled with summer, I missed you so much!