Those hands on that rough surface

Feeling its colours and tasting it

They had a relation unnamed toldskin


They talked to each other, stories never


Like cinema, skins met and rustled

Stories discovered

Of old…

But it’s a prairie I thought, just

Some furniture.

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…


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