Pablo Neruda

drunk as drunk

Drunk as drunk on turpentine from your open kisses, your wet body wedged between my wet body and the strake of our boat that is made of flowers, feasted, we guide it - our fingers like tallows adorned with yellow metal - Over the sky's hot rim, the day's last breath in our sails. Pinned by the sun between solstice and equinox, drowsy and tangled together we drifted for months and woke with the bitter taste of land on our lips, eyelids all sticky, and we longed for lime and the sound of a rope lowering a bucket down its well. Then, we came by night to the Fortunate Isles, and lay like fish under the net of our kisses.

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