Tilted

As the languid summer dusk settled, we climbed up to the rooftop terrace. Among the mossy tiles, between the railing and the high faded walls, a jasmine plant graced a corner. Its dark branches bore modest white blossoms, accompanied by a cascade of morning glories, blue bells swaying in the breeze.

The sinking sun ignited the edges of soft white clouds, hovering on the horizon, caressed by golden dust and rouge. On a whim it traced the contours of arches and corridors—a labyrinth adorned with pure hues. Sometimes a clothesline billowed in the wind, the subtle presence of the sea.

The sky became a deep blue, embracing the stars that frolicked as clusters of snowflakes. Leaning against the railing, feeling the breeze caress my skin, a serene quiet wrapped me. The fragrance of the night goddess began to awaken the dense and dizzying perfume of the evening, captivating and enticing, desires flowing from a young body, joined by the person with me in the sultry night.