Degree in Education from the Catholic University of Peru and a degree in Humanities and Theology at the Universidad Pontificia de Salamanca (Spain). Master in Adult Education, University of Mississippi (USA), Diploma in Education Project and the Culture of Peace at the Catholic University. Prose and poetry has been published in various newspapers and magazines in Peru and Spain. She is the author of two books of poetry: Lasts & Failures, edited by Red Horse 1995 and the second, "Hand Games" also published by Red Horse in 1999. He teaches college and high school, is the coordinator of Centre LIMA UNED National University of Distance Education in Madrid (Spain). And a member of the Committee of PEN International writers. EXERCISE FOR TWO
Despite the sedative dose and warm glass of cognac, the body, completely lucid, still vibrating. Slightly tense and anxious, and meanwhile, you're sleeping.
belly still not only the papery skin, the pores swarming like crystals inside open pinpoint and desire, but also and even more the urgency of having almost leaning into the darkness and have come across a body, having nestled deep in armpit . But you, you sleep.
sleeping, while someone hits me inside. I can feel smacking their little sweet and yet have to find ways to hold back, to avoid any movement that can evoke your old warmth: Now, I'm your wife.
Habré to refuse. Necessarily deny your picture next but impalpable. Myself to this similarity. Not like before, like when you did not even have to touch me, the air cleared enough that the smell of the room and did not stay and humidity of the books or fermented water the flowers in vases, but your smell, that was enough to I would like to be touched, because he felt the pressure and your muscles. (No one knew them like me ...)
I do not want to open their eyes, I would rather frolic goodly with the image that I just dislocated and invent release through touch. No longer sleep. (Not write). Turned away the covers and you've slipped his fingers looking for ... is the same night before, when I could barely wake up, "No matter" he replied, "after much want to sleep" and it did not matter was because you were bent over your papers, full cups of coffee and without looking up, no matter what I had been staring all night your neck static, unable to avoid the desire of your touch, because then ran to sit on your knee and could boldly say: "touch me I want to touch me now " and your hands trembling, sank ... still looking at me while I was completely filled with love and I undressed right there on your knees. I knew that would instantly indispensable to the cups and glasses and I would sit on the desk to kiss me. Going to be noticed, to rub my skin to beat me. And I would feel the same desire that I now feel to give up, to divert, dissolve, dust me, crashing. ... I would lean on your shoulders. But now, sleep. A thread saliva sliding down your cheek and stay at the other end of the bed, as a body, indifferent to all craving, but yes, money, enough money to never have to wallow in desire and read hardly ever the day and sleep next to your wife why you have not lifted the covers in no time, your fingers have slipped under the sheet ...
So, tomorrow in the analysis, head down and accept that it was just the touch of my skin against my skin ready for you (as if they understand that the time has weakened and will continue believing that you want me). I see you crawl towards me ... I start to get moist ... I see you grow ... enter, your lips spilling completely, and I was a cry that opens in the middle of the night, an obsession, a vacuum ... the dry throat, eyelids just made, as if he really had been cherished ...
later learned that he had left uncontrollable cry myself exploding one at that moment, deep in the end wimp of mattress, while you were sleeping ...
On one side, on the table, dusty books and kneaded cotton tip protruding from the mouth of the bottle of pills ...
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