The old covers her face, about thirty years younger, with the tip of your index. Draw a circle on his forehead down between his eyebrows, nose down, sliding down her cheek, caressing her lips, then his chin to drop by your neck, slowly, fall off and fall to the suggestion of her breasts and then stop at the precise moment in which he knows nothing stops him. She breathes deeply and smiles, his eyes closed. He does not smile. You can not. Would reveal his metaphysics.
He is the last vampire.
Right. The last vampire lives here in Buenos Aires. Perhaps
came to rest in Buenos Aires for these oversights edilicias that one can easily confuse them with a melancholy city. It is the last and feel nostalgic.
is an old skinny, gray, not much hair but the one you have long hair. Gray mustache, eyes black as night and look sad and tired.
is the end of his lineage.
And, if so, not because he has not bitten. Because such talk is nonsense that one can get something as metaphysical as the vampire with just a bite. Today we have developed antibodies to such sensitivities.
is alone.
As many of us. Virus
infertile, unable to drench the world with our presence.
He, however, continues to seduce girls and lingering on every kiss you give them in the neck. Feel their perfumes and stretches its fangs, patting his fur smooth and ignorant de la noche que se despliega ante ellas.
Apenas las muerde.
Apenas.
Si las muerde es apenas. Sus colmillos tan sólo se posan sobre sus cuellos. Es el pecho de él el que se desgarra con estos mordiscos. Se desgarra con lo que fue, con lo que no es y con lo que no será.
Con la soledad del que no trasciende sus propias fronteras.
Al menos eso me imagino mientras le besa el cuello.
Prefiero pensar que es el último de los vampiros en vez de ser un viejo que le pagó a una mina cualquiera. Que ella se presta a ser penetrada por una noche que jamás la podrá habitar en vez de haber cobrado unos pesitos. Prefiero pensar que vi mal y que Nadia no está entrando.
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