A Sunday Afternoon

That was one Sunday afternoon. I was sitting on a small bench in the backyard of my apartment building. Two-floored red brick, and quite old. I saw a woman standing on a balcony on the second floor across the street.

It was at that time when the breeze gently lifted the downside of her skirt, a thin flower one. Her arms were resting on the balcony railings. I can't remember what she was looking at, or maybe she was looking at me. I just remember the lipstick on her lips and her deep cleavage, like the deepest night between two days. Out of the darkness walked a black cat. She stretched her body, as if pulling a bow, and then jumped off the balcony of the second floor. I saw her front paws touch the cement ground slowly and softly when she landed. It was so soft that it even did not make the slightest sound. I was perplexed. Unbelievable. At that moment it seemed that a woman kissed my chest. Goosebumps were spreading up all over me. But right away she disappeared.

I looked up and saw a thin flower skirt hanging on the balcony of the second floor of the building across the street. The metal peg clips sounded tinkling, and it seemed that a flower skirt was swinging slightly in the breeze . . .