my cousins

My cousins are blue and pink. My cousins are red and yellow. My cousins are colours, a thousand different flags flying in the wind. My cousins are fat and slim. They have fat arms to embrace you, and long fingers to caress you. They have lips that sing with kisses. My cousins burst out laughing while eating cake with their mouths. Their eyes are brown and purple.

My cousins live in London. They bake cakes all day long. I love their cakes. My cousins have wings instead of arms. I met them this Easter after many years with no seeing. My daughter wanted to stay over in London. Brussels looks so empty without my cousins. Where are my cousins? They should be here around the corner, down the road, up the stream. Their bosoms are like feathers. My cousins. Where are my cousins? They keep a furnace inside their hearts.

My cousins. They are chocolate and honey. They are vanilla and cinnamon. My cousins are made of sugar and milk. They were born in Angola. Just like me. One of my cousins was a caterpillar and is now becoming a butterfly, transitioning into a woman after being born male. My cousins have love on their fingertips. They give love and laugh while eating cake with their mouths, drinking coffee with their lips. They dance with their hips. Just like me. My London cousins.

the letter

I got a present today. Three presents really. Two records and one letter. What touched me the most was the letter. It takes time to write a letter. It takes even more time to write a beautiful letter. That is the present I cherish the most. The time spent writing those words on paper. The lines of words like blue waves on a sea of white.

A letter is a precious gift today. The music is good for the soul, but a beautiful letter helps to save the soul. Thank you Gonçalo and Manuel. I will keep your letter inside the box of my heart, where it heaves and soothes.