so the tiny ital returns, welcomed by they city and its cold white comforter, myself, and a host of others who know where the milk and honey is...her sense of perception is something else - it makes some scared to talk to her. if she's seeing through me, she is most certainly seeing through you, and has, all the while. some people talk to her like she is a little girl, or a beautiful pet; but that would be their naiveté and oversight. to me she says "I do see you .... i feel you ..i dunno it is so clear to me ...i cannot explain.." and sometimes i am greeted with phrases of the following ilk: "helllll OOOOOOOO YOU beautiful little precious part of the pure sky of the best south American forest !!" or with revelations, to me, thinking i've been verbally slick all these years, "you can say no but your words are full of love. they don't see it ..." defending me furiously with "how *$&*%$*# could ask you something so so stupid !!?!?!? to you !!!" and always affection, "i love you so much also in this part of the ocean !". . . it is all passion, all the time. i know italians do it better...so let's see what happens, reina, as we unleash all this brujeria that sadness has selfishly kept hidden and dormant not only from our most wonderful selves but from those most wonderful other selves that you and i feel safe in dreaming about openly and unabashedly...certain certainties...certainly...a ver lo que HAY, tiny! let's go! out the snow, in this very diesel mercedes...in these wonderful bodies...with these magnificent engines.
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