Liquid nights

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Some places are sweeter to

drink in

than others

Mont Martre

Paris, Lapa, Rio

always with no roof

so the stars can freely

dust you dreamy

while spirits melt the city

and turn you liquid too

to sway into the night

to transmute energies

of the Wonder who

rips apart

artists

and other

receptive souls

Pigneto 

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“Come oooon, let’s go to bed already!”

“Babe, just go ahead, I’ll be in in a bit”

“No, but I wanna lay down with you”

He smacks me on the bum. He’s the man. Men are soft when their hearts are on fire. Lone boats sail around looking for home, for earth, some turn pirates from salt water and desperation and start robbing. Others pilgrims, striders, or even lovers of the big sea keeping them afloat and the stars that lead them.

But even the lovers look for earth, and when they spot it on the horizon they tremble with longing, hope, and the most crushing of fears.

I kiss the ocean-heart of my merman  husband, full of stars and space. I can wrap myself in his arms at night and float around in universes in infinity. Until he starts kicking me in his sleep and I slip into another bed to dream. Who do you run from, in your sleep, my love? 

Tenderness makes my skin sweat honey, where he doesn’t drink it, it evaporates to perfume to air. 

Last night in Dublin

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By the time I’ve removed glitter, mascara and smog from my face its 23:00. I change into pajamas and make a cup of herbal tea I brought back from home last time, and think of my childhood friend who always stock this particular blend in his kitchen cabinet.

I can’t connect to the hotel wifi so I switch on the hotspot on my phone and look at the time again, consider what time I should get up tomorrow. I need to pack my backpack and have breakfast before 11. 8 o’clock should do. 

Nathaniel is taking my Mac and phone to the office so it doesn’t have to stay in my unlocked room while we are on holiday. We may get new roomies in the meantime. 

This means I won’t have my Mac Friday night though, and I need to do my expenses before the weekend. I can do them in the morning, but then I would have to get up quite early. Giuliano wanted to go for an ocean dip in the morning as well, but since she is still out I think the pressure is off.

The chat connects, there are 63 messages from the crazy kids still at the bar, now another one. Two team mates are already back at the hotel though, having admin/PJ party like myself. I rub the lenses of my glasses to remove a stain, then send a selfie to the group chat. I check my personal phone, Loverman aka Merman has not replied yet, did he go to bed without texting me goodnight? I message mum and a friend, then leave it next to me.

I find the receipts I have already sorted for last week first. Personal phone vibrates, its Merman telling me goodnight. I smile and crawl a bit deeper under the covers.


 FR7407 to Luton

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I’m packing homemade flower remedies from mum, chocolates, artist brushes, glitter, herbal tea, 6 menthol lip balms. 

For the road my friend equips me with a tinfoil wrapped bread roll, an organic apple, a tiny box of raisins and November’s issue of Eurowoman with an article about being from a beautiful place but not feeling at ease there, and making home elsewhere.

I tear up as I bite the bun, sat in my blue and yellow Ryanair seat, already mid air. A girl in a tank top is riding on her mum’s shoulders on the commercial on the wall, the sun is shining, arms stretched out she looks like she is flying. To me now it looks like something that would be really hard to return to. I fumble for my head phones and blast a funkão carioca to remind myself why I chose that, and how it chose me too. Somewhere inside, my PC feminist scratches her head… But who has the time when the beat is this great? If you can’t twerk it sure aint my revolution.

 Tchau & Bjão Dina, vai se ver por aí!