Her face hides a universe of secrets. We only catch a glimpse of her erotic soul thru her poetry—and the way she dresses to match the fruits and flavours and lush contours of her native land. Chile has moulded her into a structure: bold for sure, but now responsible and serious. What is repressed in her spills into my soul—she´s a volcano wanting to erupt again as in the days when all was primal. With my mind´s eye I can see her dancing like a Mango-sour spinning in the sunlight. She is fire and full. Moon Mother. Bare-breasted, hips swirling to music only she hears.
Whirling dervish, sitting there so innocently with your specks perched on your nose, you don´t fool me.