Frida Kahlo to Diego Rivera

Diego.
Nothing compares to your hands, nothing like the green-gold of your eyes. My body is filled with you for days and days. You are the mirror of the night. The violent flash of lightning. The dampness of the earth. The hollow of your armpits is my shelter.  All my joy is to feel life spring from your flower-fountain, to fill all the paths of my nerves which are yours.

My Diego:
Mirror of the night.
Your eyes green swords inside my flesh. Waves between our hands.
All of you in a space full of sounds — in the shade and in the light. You were called 'Auxochrome' the one who captures colour. I 'Chromophore' — the one who gives colour.
You are all the combinations of numbers. Life. My wish is to understand lines form shades movement. You fulfill and I receive. Your words travels the entirety of space and reaches my cells which are my stars then goes to yours which are my light.

It was the thirst of many years restrained in our body. Chained words which we could not say except on the lips of dreams.  Upon your form, the lashes of the flowers responded to my touch, the murmur of streams. There was all manner of fruits in the juice of your lips, the blood of the pomegranate, the horizon of the mammee and the purified pineapple. I pressed you against my breast and the prodigy of your form penetrated all my blood through the tips of my fingers.

Horizon and landscapes- I traced them with a kiss. Oblivion of words will form the exact language for understanding the glances of our closed eyes. You are here, intangible and you are all the universe which I shape into the space of my room. From you to my hands, I caress your entire body, and I am with you for a minute and I am with myself for a moment. And my blood is the miracle which runs in the vessels of the air from my heart to yours.

The green miracle of the landscape of my body becomes in your the whole of nature. I fly through it to caress the rounded hills with my fingertips, my hands sink into the shadowy valleys in an urge to possess and I’m enveloped in the embrace of gentle branches, green and cool. I penetrate the sex of the whole earth, her heat chars me and my entire body is rubbed by the freshness of the tender leaves. Their dew is the sweat of an ever-new lover.

It’s not love, or tenderness, or affection, it’s life itself, my life, that I found what I saw in it; your hands, in your month and in your breasts. Our worlds have never gone outside. Only one mountain can know the core of another mountain.
Your presence floats for a moment or two as if wrapping my whole being in an anxious wait for the morning. I notice that I’m with you. At that instant still full of sensations, my hands are sunk in oranges, and my body feels surrounded by your arms.