I drove to the top of a mountain along lanes that began in the mist of time.
Looking north I could see the plateau of Alentejo, westward the Atlantic sea;
it was her, the trollop; I wanted to see from a safe distance. Glittering azure
tender and inviting, the tart. My bond to her, is that of a kind magistrate who
in his youth, visited a whore who served him sinful pleasures that gave him
a longing for the unobtainable. There were times, on deck, in tropical nights,
when she called my name and I could have drowned in her balmy embrace,
but she laughed turned away from me and loved someone else. I thought
she was forgotten, till she reappeared and smiled in the sea green eyes of
a woman I loved. She too walked away; loved someone else. I hear her song,
the bitch of my life, the whispering and undulating waves. And I say: “Just
one wicked embrace more, my lovely, and I will not dream of you anymore.”
