a stuffed couple share their skin with clothes never to be taken off trapped within their sins they lust for a simple pleasure stripped from them.
Yet they have books too heavy to read their arms drawn to their bodies their feet sewed together while they stand looking down at me.
Every afternoon I tie back the shades and give them a glimpse of a garden they will never walk and scentless flowers they will never smell, but how could they know that.
Their house hangs on the wall carved of wood their bedroom is on the thrid floor around the corner and through the doors they dream of the simple cottage far from the city.
They never move, they never speak, they never sigh, they can´t even weep, all they do is see what its like to be me.