The bird woman approaches carefully to slither up into the bed. I tremble upon feeling her close. Closer. She thinks I’m sleeping, but she writes a letter on my side. The suspense suffocates me. She thinks I’m asleep, and writes a letter on my side. Suddenly I grab her by the wings, bite her neck, I tattoo my saliva on her, I decapitate her with my tongue. I want to pluck her. We play at not knowing the game.
In silence, I dominate the bird woman so that she won’t awaken my girlfriend. I undress her. Her clothes look like liquid pages that upon touching them disappear. My girl opens her eyes abruptly. The bird woman finds herself adrift in bed. All three
of us look like poems shot between bones of fear. Together we ferment in those sheets where suicidal time yields.
Both of them initiate their pursuit. They swallow me alive. The bird woman fulminates me with her humid bright stars; my girlfriend adulterates me with her mouth. Both grip on to sharp feathers. The excitement of death is born in me.
My girl returns to her sleep under the infuence of a flash of blood, she goes determined to dream me. The bird woman, caged by her guilt, is transformed into a flock of tears that flee...
