In a tank of shrimps
You’re a Moorish idol
You make everything
Look a trifle…

since I’ve learnt of you
you’ve been in my dreams
you sat close to me
I could feel you near
despite image banned
on my nighttime screen…
got no closeup of you
only contours unclear

i've been touching you
with my fingertips
i've been watching you
with half-closed eyelids
through a keyhole
in the dusk of night
through a door gap
in blinding sunlight

not a photograph
but a blurry snap
poorly painted draft
of your silhouette
in the dark of room
we talk tete-a-tete
but your mouth is mute
and I doubt… what’s that?

Is it a cigarette...
or it’s just a pen?
But before I know
I’ll wake up again