September 14, 2024, 06:59 PM
What would el jefe do?
The odds are that he would laugh—yes, he can hear it now, that feline, guttering laugh—because nothing can hurt him, because he is the steward of his world, because he has mastered his body. And he laughs easily. And Moisés longs for that sound. He can envision the fold of fat on the back of the jaguar's neck which flattens when he turns, over his shoulder, to look at you. The brilliantine shine of his hair.
Moisés, he responds, calmer still. It keeps smiling at him, each one of its teeth as small as his toenails.
No hablo tu lengua.
The odds are that he would laugh—yes, he can hear it now, that feline, guttering laugh—because nothing can hurt him, because he is the steward of his world, because he has mastered his body. And he laughs easily. And Moisés longs for that sound. He can envision the fold of fat on the back of the jaguar's neck which flattens when he turns, over his shoulder, to look at you. The brilliantine shine of his hair.
Moisés, he responds, calmer still. It keeps smiling at him, each one of its teeth as small as his toenails.
No hablo tu lengua.
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RE: sion - by Moises - September 14, 2024, 06:59 PM