Those hands on that rough surface
Feeling its colours and tasting it
They had a relation unnamed told
They talked to each other, stories never
Like cinema, skins met and rustled
But it’s a prairie I thought, just
But now those hands don’t rustle
It seems I am scared,
Of loyalty of those furniture.
So many imagined, staring me at each corner
Lowered the eyes and walked around.
It’s painful to see so loyal living, imagined, real
So many furniture…