An empty glass that refuses to be filled
A tiny naked woman appears behind a liqueur glass. She starts to climb it, and her miniature sex looks magnified behind the crystal. Her skin is dark and she has wild, long hair. Velvet legs embrace and surround the glass; tiny arms push and press her up against it. Finally, she rises to the edge. The liqueur glass is small; square at the bottom and broad at the rim. It’s hard to climb it, but she persists.
Why does she do that? What is she looking for? To drown, perhaps? To jump, as if it were a swimming pool; to let herself sink, to feel herself go, to be swallowed and drank? Maybe all she wants is to dilute, like a raindrop merging with the sea. The tiny woman ignores my questions and continues; she sits on the rim, takes impulse and jumps in, like a frog with light skin jumping into a dark well.
She is effervescent, foam originates where she falls.
She sinks at first, and then she surfaces, swimming around, playing with the liquid. I don’t know whether I should drink her or not. Who am I, to drink women from a bottle? Nobody, that’s who, and still, I do it, and her feet are the last thing I push down my throat; I can feel her slippery fingers on my tongue. I swallow her whole (completely), and reach out for the next drink, whatever it is.
Another tiny woman materializes around the glass – at this point, there is a successive line of women- and whilst devouring them I feel only the soft crunching of their knees. Worst suicides do happen, you should know. Who am I to refuse them this consummation? I’m nobody, that's who, and hereby would love to present them with a toast: To you, the girls that sink!
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Fotos de Wara A. Godoy.