Full of warm tea and all the little pills and potions with which the Venetian has piled on me, I sleep most of the day and into the night. Once, when I awaken, I find him sitting on the edge of the bed facing me, his eyes pools of sweetness. "The fever has passed, you're lovely and cools now. Dormi, amore mio, dormi. Sleep, my love, sleep." I look at him, at his narrow hunched shoulders, his face still a picture of worry. He gets up to adjust the blanket, and I look at him bending over me in his faded underwear. I think he looks like the skinny man on the beach before he wrote away for his copy of "Muscle Culture."
I think he is the most gorgeous thing I've ever seen.
- "A Thousand Days in Venice" by Marlena de Blasi (page 31)
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