Intimate Circle

I forgot where I hid
the peach color morning gown
moth-eaten in its pockets
only a child I didn’t know
that clothes are still dust
even when they are stainless

the little toe of my right foot
breaks out through a hole in the sock
it doesn’t matter
if it is alone and frozen
if it is scratching the floor with its nail
finally the centipedes
are gathering the remains
climbing on the ceiling
in a protean urge
they all fall down

it smells badly like naphthalene
and rancid coffee
I’m stirring slowly with the teaspoon
with my little finger in extension
writing the letter „O”

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Categories: My Poems in 2012 | Tags: , , , | Leave a comment

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