el balcón

Living in the countryside now, despite the unique affection I have for it, I catch myself daydreaming of when I lived in the city...and of someday living in one again. I dream of a tiny little flat, cramped with pots and pans and art and books and all the traces and fingerprints of the lovers in my life smudged all over it. I dream of a kitchen whose doors opens up to a balcony, and on a Sunday afternoon in broad daylight, being tipped so as to lean deliciously precariously over its edge...a tangle of hands gripping hips and breasts and necks and railings, bouncing in the sun, moans ringing through the clear air, hard enough that even the spices in the spice cabinet are rattling and tumbling to the ground...