300 Rosas Morenas
Your white shirt has grown thirsty dark brown roses. Your blood oozes and flees around the corners of your sash. [...] Let me climb up, at least, up to the high balconies; Let me climb up! Let me, up to the green balconies.* He came from the port of the city of Cabra. God knows what happened to him, or whose path he crossed, to give him bloody red roses oozing through the white cotton of his shirt. He had to return, it's been too long. It's dark, the air smells of green wind and green branches. Somewhere in the distance he senses her waiting, but at the same time there's something sinister in that waiting. He can feel a strange taste of bile, mint and basil in his mouth . It's not his time anymore, he feels as if he's there on borrowed moments, belonging to nobody. He looks up along the greenery, the overgrown rumbled down house. He thinks he can see her crossing the balcony and stopping by the wrought iron railings. He imagines her swaying her hips fo...