A toast you offered me, with your sketck.
A true festival for the senses. In vino veritas, or should we say from now In coffee veritas...?
Like we do when toasting with a good wine, you gave me something for each one of my senses... the light flooding your room (and coloring your eyes, your eyes, your eyes, oh my), ocean sunlight filtering through the blinders, the sounds from birdland, the cigarrette smoke, the fragrant trees, the sweet backyardigans, running with loud laughter, and the coffee, the coffee (you know I would give anything for one cup of that coffee made by your hands).
I owe it to your words: the air of that room that I have not seen, but I can now touch...
There is more. I know your regard now; like a sketch that develops overtime, that goes backwards and forward, flying over Time, stopping It for some moments of purity and delight. Such a beauty.
A new desire takes hold of me: watching you while painting... I picture myself, transfixed, following the flow of your paint brush, so detached from its end result, absorbed by the beauty of your gesture alone.
I truly loved you on your sketch.
And this idea slowly gets shape in my spirit: that desiring beautiful desires will keep me joyful and enchanted in your nearness...
Always by your side...
Sándalo Naranja
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