Remove Popcorn Oil From Shirt

"... And I'll see the last reef thoughtful,

provocative sweet wrecks

Shadowed God without devotees

your poppies will cure me of roses ... "

Marquerite Yourcenar

                                                                                               
At three p.m. Luciana came to the confessional. I knew that at that time the church would be empty and the pastor was not there. He also knew that Santiago, the seminarian, lying in the confessional would be trying to recover from the tough tasks for the day had to meet. Luciana and James
always met. They grew up together near the sea, more like close friends and neighbors until Santiago, influenced by his uncle, Bishop entered the seminary at the age of eighteen years and not seen again for 5 years.
At the time of absence, there was always a place within it, where with great zeal, kept his memory. Kept the color of his eyes, moving his lips, the shape of their hands, the width of your back, turgid of her thighs, her sensitive movements, his half smile, but more than anything, that form of God ... look! Everything else that was denied to explore your body, there also lay in a state of imagination where it fitting, on the sly, delighted.
That existence, made memories, lived in a hidden camera behind a tangled web difficult to access, built against reason and according to your wishes. A distant habitat guarding the beginning of the road where once the skin was pierced. A path that angrily rebuked the God who had refused and made his way in the midst of a dense constellation of veins, arteries and who knows what order neural connections and against orders, which ranged from his mind, his desires and their conscious or subconscious, making it even restricted area and especially for her, but she was persistent, overwhelming and able to pass, for him, all sorts of obstacles to cross thresholds exist for the human eye, but not least for real the senses. This room was also a sacred and profane at the same time, she forged to house, and although at first only if you dare to visit the surprising nostalgia in a long and surreptitious viewing of great melancholy madness or rebel, was then Once there, only there, he belonged entirely to become panting lover feel sneaky. So she loved him, so I could enjoy it at will, yet he never once suspected.

another world where he could breathe life into their memory, to know the texture of your skin, feel your pores wetting, their vapors exfoliating, scrubbing stories with their lips to make her give birth million flowers to satisfy their endless thirst for honey. Fade to his chest in a tight embrace, seeking to keep him forever. Feeling his hands slide down her thighs making her contract to the touch, while outside in the real world, your mind will wonder where you would find and who would be making her shiver.
So he spent the time between visits to his own interior, where it was and loved him or just sat and wrote to him from the most awful kitsch until invaded the scorching eroticism and then curled up on the edge of the bed , in a condition of helplessness almost back to its interior, while his mind was turned into a fierce lover of his memory, the dream prostitute, her prudish geisha fantasized all Western man. In the purest source of pleasure, his blood, his flesh ... I hurt just thinking love!

Until Santiago returned. It was about to stop being a seminarian, and she saw him again, he knew he must try to recover.
long time since I had observed, his home, Luciana, was behind the church. From there you could look early in the morning when he went outside to feed the chickens, rabbits and animal as it happened to possess healing. The was stripped to the waist to the annoyance of the pastor who assured him he would soon catch pneumonia and a bad thought. Santiago laughed so much to the delight of her who was already imagining caressing that body knew by heart. Luciana
knelt before the curtain and after a Bless me Father for I have sinned, he gave vent to his excitement and begged him not to confess that she still loved him. The seminarian covered her face with her hands and with a voice that seemed more like a sob, tried to explain that it was not possible to forget it. If it is - she replied as if he had fired a memorized speech by dint of desire - Let me calm your crying, being your jar that the breeze does not evaporate. Takes possession of me like unresolved land and your hands that unleash Prometheus take me to the sea, Poseidon summons, become a sea, make me into reef, coral sand, make your foam is drying on my side and show me how, from time immemorial, there is no intercourse wider and louder.
Santiago stopped crying, no one ever looked so much tenderness and pain at a time. A pain that he announced resignation, forgetfulness, lack. It can not be - he said - Do not you understand that to forget, I became a eunuch of God?

It was never heard. Hardly ever murmurs were heard among the waves that washed a reef with a woman's face, denouncing whispers abandonment and drowning under the tolling of bells in the tower of the church that could be seen from the beach. The seminarian was never seen again, but some say that on that reef, at night when the tide rises, a shadow dressed in full black, clinging to the rock and coral sand mixed with a female face, and without crying to God weeps bitterly.


Elena López Meneses