She came at night, hidden between the sheets in the small place that is always between my arm and the pillow.
Wine when I can not defend myself, when my words and my dreams are open for anyone to view, who will listen, for those who want to take them. When my attention is on the beads of sweat covering my neck resigned to the heat of the night, to the anxieties of the waiting women dreams.
She came at night and I spoke in words that I remember, I tried to touch that I wiped and looked at me without looking color but penentrante. Wine night in my dreams and I moved into parts of my heart I knew not to be used, told me words to me I was meant life.
She came at night and died just before the end of my dream.
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