In the labyrinth of her body, her heart was a big cave full of echoes.
Every dawn, a sea of bats came back from the night.
The wind ran across her lungs.
Sometimes soft wind and caress, sometimes tornado and explosion, almost always lullaby and rocking.
The river of her veins was a labyrinth of mute currents pulsating a primitive rhythm.
Some days, red turmoils are formed here and there.
A cavern of sharp crystals is found in the basin of her liver.
A river of bile sometimes runs through: hate, rancor and remorse.
Lost in an idea, twisted and climbed cerebral circumvolutions.
It flew over her thoughts: it was mist, electric impulse and shinning.
A sea of fiber and meat was shaking and expanding.
Waves in the heart go up and down along with the guts and the bones.
Lean muscle and movement.
Made of silk and electric current, her skin is a map of scars, sensations, pleasure and air.
It is a mirror and a constellation of freckles.
Silence and spark, the web of nerves is switched on and off endlessly.
If we ever shine it is because of their light, if they are switched off darkness arrives.
Full of mineral and time they are our history.
They speak about our movement: they will be the dust when once we are gone.