Street across.

On a table in between you and against a wall, somewhat outside, but not. You carry with you all intent of pulling me a part. Us alone, but possibly not. We’re shadowed by quiet, transparent walls within an empty hostel far. Not quite making it to the room, a few steps away, we stop under canopying arches and the tunnels cocooning us in. This moment has been thought through while on the plane, you admit, once your flight lands later on. Your tongue spreads as you go straight down my sternum, navel and abdomen, bypassing, only positioning, the thighs, to get to the part you crave most. Da Palma da Minha Mão to Canção sounding familiar, coming from the street across. A small town we meet in, time to time.

Excerpt from scene.

Between Jerusalem and Mexico series, a taboo love.