Enoshima

Enoshima is the heat of your hand, the freshness of your voice. Your flattened nose, your eyes of fiction, your infinite hair. The things that you confessed to me, what we stay without saying to ourselves.

Your gesture of shame, your feigned shame, your shamelessness. The rustle of your gait, the wind of your smile, the flavor of your breath.

Your absent-minded memories, your face of thinking, your lips of being quiet. The spot of your cheek, the jeans in your waist, your navy blue purse.

The soft of your tact, your hidden hugs, your breast in my breast, your legs in my legs.

Your red and gray necklace, the torture of your neckline, the cowardice of my hands, the valor of your mouth.

The kisses that you gave me.

Those that you left to me to duty.