Stretched out side by side, we exchanged confidences, whispers, smiles. Curled up, she fell on my chest and there unfolded like a vegetation of murmurs. She sang in my ear, a little snail.
She was so clear, I could read all her thoughts. Certain nights her skin was covered with phosphorescence, and to embrace her then was to embrace a piece of night, tattooed with fire.
Subject to the moon, to the starts, to the influence of the light of other worlds, she changed her moods and appearance in a way that I thought fantastic, but it was as fatal as the tide.
- Octavio Paz from My life with the Wave
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