a man scratches the
remains in the pan
the metal spoon and
its touch makes the
pan beg for mercy and
the man for more

"may men move mansions
in the magic of their mistresses"
a song plays in the background

a canvas waits for him to stop and
start smudging

a woman across
the street in her balcony
leaves the last two
drags of her cigarette
and fills the water in
the ashtray to extinguish
the smolder
incensed,
goes back into the walls

there's no one to
caress the moon tonight
and the cats gonna weep till
the sun wakes up the dogs

then the man washes the pan
and as soon as the pan dries up completely,
hunger stealths in again
like a sad mouse to a broken trap

the woman got goosebumps
and she closes her window
thinking that it was because
of the winter breeze outside