My back touched the fabric
of the couch
as I slouched and tilted my head.

I let my elbow fell on the armchair
as my thumb flew between my lips
and my teeth perched on its flesh.

My forefinger
ran back and forth, restlessly,
on my nose bridge

as I inhaled the details
of your head thrown backward,
your hair suspended in midair.

some strands draping down your chest,
your mouth half open,
your secret self and your entire being

all seducing my peripheral vision.

Gloom covered your face
as you held the remaining strands
of your little doll
pressed to your chest.

I wonder if it hears your heart beating.

The muscles of your jaw tighten
your fist clenched on the tip
of the skirt of that rag around the waist,
covered in sand.

Are those lies piling on your plate?

Arms flailing, limped like stretched promises
subject for renewal
displayed on the rusty railings
of overpriced prisons
and underpriced confinements overthere

overlooking the slums,
the displaced,
the violent, barbaric, filthy slaves
over here.

If I may inquire,
Are you one of those people flooding the street,
making the world go round
and red and red and red?