37.5 seconds of your last kiss

TRANSLATION NOTES: Please read some comments at the end of this post.

To say you no, would have been easier than to hear you say it. It hurts so much here in the heart; not that I haven’t expected it, not now, maybe never.

That’s why I ask for this, one last kiss. Not too long, nor too short. Only 37.5 seconds since the contact of my dry lips with the lip pencil lead in your fleshy mouth. Without preamble, rather than embrace under new conditions, soft, strong, intense; until I can feel your breath upon my left ear and your throb in my sternum pressured by your right nipple.

Without prejudice to what it was, what it was not, much less about what –we know– it won’t be. Just look into my eyes, with that butterflies feeling of another times; let’s cry with the bones of what it has gone, for what it was left, for what, –I suppose– we’ll never know where it is.

Now lend me your lips, for me, and take mine’s in dressing. Let us kiss neither strong, nor soft; with no tongue, not so aggressive. I just want to feel the magic of your breath; the chemical contact –which I know– makes your backbone tremble as a lyre and tears apart in the fall out of my drums.

15 seconds to feel your inevitable Clorets Gum, the memory that you existed before, before casting things to lose, –and to win-. Time to ensure your gaze will chase me in the sleepless nights; as well as your tender smile and your noisy laughter that sounds like the chiflones echo mingled with the shouts of lost fishermen; there, in the intense darkness, where exits the Chilica.

15 seconds to confirm that no one can love –or stop doing so– from night to morning, to the afternoon, to the night, at the other night. Forget you in another girl’s legs, your moans with hers; bury you in her belly’s halo and revive you in her lips’ kiss -this kiss-.

7 seconds to grow old with you, to remember that you’re still alive somewhere; and forget that you’re not with me, -not in my space-, but certainly in my time. To think that you miss me, that you forget me; time to remember your curls, with the dye which that moment wanted, with the gray hairs that infallibly exist. To touch you in the stone of my chest; to revive your nails on the rivers of my back, on the edge of the outline; although you no longer exist.

Half a second for that day – or night- when the heartbeat reaches the top, in this precise moment, when blood no longer feeds my capillaries, and my lips become dry, become colder because no longer live…

An instant when I can feel, from this side -and the other-; for the last and for the first time, the very truly sensation of this kiss.

Sorry for the children who visit this blog. It was inadvertently wanting (*).

TRANSLATION NOTES:

(*) Chiflon: Cold wind that blows at night after sunset.

(*) Chilica: a female monster that uses to deceive men that goes after her. The Siguanaba or Chilica is an ancient legend of El Salvador.

(*) Fue sin querer queriendo: (It was inadvertently wanting) a popular phrase of a TV’s childish mexican character called “el Chavo” that is interpreted by Roberto Gomez Bolaños.