Sleeping woman, red chalk drawing

I imagine two people making love they’re like gingerbread men they stick at the hinges chocolate chips melt they become like biscuits soaked in syrup or like dry bread chips melting in sacred wine

They get dizzy and slip down they take a bath with foaming bath salts to invigorate then they start all over again he hiding his muscular strength and steely veins she covering her thin ankles and her smooth skin still too white on her breasts

I met once in a while a man I saw him as if through a beekeeper’s mask there was a beehive of women around him he stood stuck to the ground his hands on his hips his back turned to me I had never watched until then a man’s butt but it was not my fault now we’re old and gray and far apart one from another

It was a scent of young fir bud and lemon tree flowers crushed in the palms of my hands it was a wish to lay stretched on the warm naked ground it might have been a rainy summer and maybe my limbs were too tender I could easily touch the back of my head with my heels I danced on the armchair I swore I would never smoke and I would keep my backbone flexible getting old I dreamed of having my navy blue wedding in a simple-cut dress

Only that year there grew poppies on the field beyond my fence it is uncertain from where came the seed they withered and blackened like poppies do but none got roots
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Categories: My Poems in 2015 | Tags: , , , , | Leave a comment

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