Commensals
The table a flat arena well decorated with candles, flowers, translucent water, the brightly metal from the silverware reflecting the upper ceil widespread all around the dinning room. White and clean, the dishes non served yet, the particular sound of the staff carrying, serving pouring, cleaning, talking. The affluent of voices that comes from neighbor dimensions enters flood the scene with floral scents and fur coats while embedding the aroma of food and lipstick into the main wardrobe.
Shadows without face, without face except yours, that I have always spotted in secret and you to mine being both invisible ones. You are beautiful tonight, he says. Tonight no detail on them or the memories of the past. We will overtake the corridors restricted for the water, restricted for the silverware and dishes unless carried by the waiter or waitress. Everything specifically located, rhythmically placed, letting no time to hesitate nor to deviate the attention to what is next served. The food.
Harmonic touches against the dishes ceramics while the smell of wine spreads all over the place. The sparkles of champagne in the other corner, floats immersed in the foamy air and light seducing the senses. Lips and tongues shows up dancing with the fork, switching with the spoon, then the tongue and the fork and the glass and the lips. Eyes become shiny and cheeks red and pompous, the air is heated up while the pink manjar is expected to come.
Hands crosses, and touches, shoulders and hands, forks are limited to the dish, the soup is over. Hands again, and eyes, approval and disapproval while lips are always red. Seducing the commensals specially me, always inviting to eat the meat that has been recently swallowed. Pushed back by the tongue, the red tongue and the lips again. Laughs and mystery, invade the emotions, the expectancy grows and grows on what is going to happen tonight. We grow high and mature and secure while the wine enters our blood, we grow sexy and the expectancy about everything, about life flowing through the eyes and the nose and the lips and the dish and the wine, the champagne our bodies and cheeks.
Promises are always part of the conversed plate, pictures were taken yesterday how great they are in secret locations encoding the simplicity of anonymous people and my benevolence. Once there was a boy... he said. Tenderness is in the air penetrating the air into her ears. I was at the cafe... fortune and summer is once again the promise of the new year. The happenings and the humour the laughs about nothing, the speed up of the night, our voices are high our spirit is fire the lips are red.
The future, the illusory future that changes with every word and every soft curve of the night time, cheering engaged in the common agreement, to accept the meat surrounding humanity, to belong to it, to go back to the womb, and never be set apart from the dinner hopefully to play with you a little bit more and forget what we expected during the night, if it happened or not. As our bellies fills up, our attention falls apart, we no longer want to smile to the rest, we just want to be alone in the dark somewhere else but not here in front of the food sin and then forget.
Andres
Shadows without face, without face except yours, that I have always spotted in secret and you to mine being both invisible ones. You are beautiful tonight, he says. Tonight no detail on them or the memories of the past. We will overtake the corridors restricted for the water, restricted for the silverware and dishes unless carried by the waiter or waitress. Everything specifically located, rhythmically placed, letting no time to hesitate nor to deviate the attention to what is next served. The food.
Harmonic touches against the dishes ceramics while the smell of wine spreads all over the place. The sparkles of champagne in the other corner, floats immersed in the foamy air and light seducing the senses. Lips and tongues shows up dancing with the fork, switching with the spoon, then the tongue and the fork and the glass and the lips. Eyes become shiny and cheeks red and pompous, the air is heated up while the pink manjar is expected to come.
Hands crosses, and touches, shoulders and hands, forks are limited to the dish, the soup is over. Hands again, and eyes, approval and disapproval while lips are always red. Seducing the commensals specially me, always inviting to eat the meat that has been recently swallowed. Pushed back by the tongue, the red tongue and the lips again. Laughs and mystery, invade the emotions, the expectancy grows and grows on what is going to happen tonight. We grow high and mature and secure while the wine enters our blood, we grow sexy and the expectancy about everything, about life flowing through the eyes and the nose and the lips and the dish and the wine, the champagne our bodies and cheeks.
Promises are always part of the conversed plate, pictures were taken yesterday how great they are in secret locations encoding the simplicity of anonymous people and my benevolence. Once there was a boy... he said. Tenderness is in the air penetrating the air into her ears. I was at the cafe... fortune and summer is once again the promise of the new year. The happenings and the humour the laughs about nothing, the speed up of the night, our voices are high our spirit is fire the lips are red.
The future, the illusory future that changes with every word and every soft curve of the night time, cheering engaged in the common agreement, to accept the meat surrounding humanity, to belong to it, to go back to the womb, and never be set apart from the dinner hopefully to play with you a little bit more and forget what we expected during the night, if it happened or not. As our bellies fills up, our attention falls apart, we no longer want to smile to the rest, we just want to be alone in the dark somewhere else but not here in front of the food sin and then forget.
Andres
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