Rincón creativo | Magicland
He & She
Damien Knight
He is the most enigmatic person that I have known.
I never know either what he is thinking, or what is the most attractive thing about him.
He is an angel and a demon at the same time; with me, with himself, with everybody.
He turns everyday into a heaven or a hell.
He is my paradise. His deep eyes are like blades that hurt you with each look, but I have learnt how to stand the pain;
I have learnt how to read those eyes, and they have allowed me to do it.
I am the reader; he is my book.
He is my heaven. He smells like Sunday mornings, like breakfast in bed, like sex. I am pain; he is relief.
He is my purgatory. His forbidden lips, red fruits of sin; bittersweet juice of fate. I have regretted every kiss, every smile, for having been weak. He is the hunter; I am the prey.
He is my hell. His voice, song of sirens: soft, sweet, hypnotic; thunders of storm: strong, intense, masculine.
I have no defense, no shield. I am the victim; he is the wolf.
He is the price that I have to pay. I love what I hate about him, and I hate what I love.
Him.
If angels had face, they would look like her. The bright in her soul light her path and the path of everyone who follows her
Her hearth … that flower is as pure as crystal; inside it, there are no place for hate, revenge or evilness; all of it is full of love, full of peace, full of mercy, full of joy.
Her hair … that gold is the reason of which Jason started his quest; there is no sun ray bright enough to compare with them; each and every piece of her hair was made by God’ s hands; they were picked up and placed in her head gracefully.
Her face … that porcelain is able to arouse Athena’ s envy and wrath; it is so perfect, so sublime that there is no wrinkle brave enough to damage it; there is no mortal hand worthy enough to touch it. For that skill, Marc Anthony fell in love with Cleopatra.
Her lips … those pieces of heaven look like ripened strawberries: so red, so soft, and so sweet. For just a kiss of those lips, Prometheus would steal the gods’ fire again joyfully, just for barring that the dark of the eternal night hides the beauty of her lips.
Her perfume … that song of sirens is as inebriating as the superior Dionysus’ s wine; get lost in that perfume is the paradise in the earth. If Penelope had been a lighthouse; if her perfume had been as sweet as my angel’ s, Odysseus would be able to find his way home even into the obscurer mist.
Her body … that pure made-by-hand marble is a muse for writers and painters. Naturally graceful and fragile in her dance, even an Apollo’ s priestess dances so good like she does. Every movement of her hips provokes in her viewer’ s eyes the desire of closing themselves eternally, for not profaning that marvelous and divine image.
Herself … that charming butterfly is the reason that the sun has to arose every day, and my reason to live another day too. She is my Eurydice; like Orpheus, I would crawl into the underworld for rescuing her soul from Hades’ hands. And, if our destiny was the same that the legend, I would stay by her side for ever, because in her company, the hell itself is the heaven.