Grammar 1

Somehow we started to speak the same language. I could play the consonants that hung from her fingers and she could feel my vowels on the top of my chest. I was able to grab each of her shy accent marks hidden beneath the corners of her skin, and she could separate all my words and turn them into hiatuses located in every corner of my eye every time she looked at me.

Her spine was the grammatical theory that my readers' fingers needed to learn. Increasingly complex prosecuts were built on his back each time my avid reading fingers managed to brush her skin. On their shoulders they were conjugated all the tenses, the perfect present was my favorite. Her neck was surrounded by kisses and impossible verbs that she only allowed to see the subject with a caress.

In my memory there were hundreds of silent conversations that lasted hours in which I learned her skin. There, in her chest, a comma. Here, in her groin, a final point; and there, very close to here lips, three ellipses of which no one knew what to expect.

My fingers fell silent once she disappeared. I became an illiterate who could only speak one language and feel none. I always regret these days when my body, surrounded by end points, does not meet with a mouth like yours, with some ellipsis that lengthen my life a little longer.