the castle ruins

ODDBALL GOOFBALL REVERIES of her, the Azteca of Tenochtitlan, the seductress of the Mission District. Dark hair, soft eyes, pretty fingers. This time she is dressed up in her vibrant striped cartoon dress, and after a concert we roam the twilight of the castle ruins hand in hand until we fall and make love, full love, in the thin grass of Käevumägi, the Well Hill. A sweet, sticky kind of love, with clothing half on and off, and there are tourists taking photos, but we don’t care, because it’s too much fun. Then she sits up abruptly and recalls her boyfriend in Tallinn, whom she seemed to have forgotten, but then dive backs into the warmth, into the reverie because, well, what else can you do when the connection is so lively and good? So warm, so hot, so small she was in this dream. Whatever it means, whatever gateway it opened, into whatever mystery it leads, I shall so happily follow her. She by now is my archangel, my peaingel. My põhjatäht, my north star.

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