my body were clay on a working table made of glass.
Fingertips, precise and honest, reviewing the material.
For a long time, it seems you’ve known
every material requires a certain form.
You feel what your material is whispering in alien words.
Fingertips pushing without pressing, sensing without searching.
Inspiration. Material. An artwork irreproducible.
Ambivalent beauty, new to space – sculpture work surviving.
there’s nothing more natural than walking down the avenue
hand in hand. Sometimes talking, sometimes not.
Sometimes thinking about something undetached from one another.
Two ones who know there’s neither time nor place for two.
Alien but secure. Intimate but superficial,
hand in hand. Kissing while waiting at the red light.
It is an “as if two”. Playing the game without love to name.
It is not as if I knew you all my life.
It is as if
sipping whiskey in old fashioned bars would make us mysterious lovers.
Liquor heating our bodies, calming our nerves.
Eating paella as a taste of “as if summer holidays” in Europe.
Getting closer, never sure, always risking unintended love.
What we are perfect for is just “as if”.
I always knew that I will miss
the moments we created.
Not sure what’s next – that’s how it is.