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Teodora Pavel Jul 2022
Ode at the Tomb of the Unknown Lover
                
The white muslin shadows of the
curtains reveal no secret.
Behind the French-windows, the garden vegetates:
A perfect parking place for her Rolls-Royce.
Peace. Warm afternoon. Fresh peaches.
Tell me what you see, move your eyes,
"Red lips on the white carpet" - and
a shade of orange at the corners.
I saw her make-up as she was looking
at the painting, cold and distant - she wasn't even there -
Still naked, a few minutes later.
She lives in that painting, I know now.

She put her clothes on and left the room.
And every Rolls-Royce has its own parking place.

Empty bedroom. Two empty cups of tea. Cold sheets.
Helpless cushions on the floor. Cold sheets.

Two cats are playing chess in the middle of the room,
They are moving the pieces with a magnetic blink of eye.

She left the room to get some ice-cream from Antonio Fresco
and promised to return.

Who drinks the best chocolate in town?
What is the distance between Argentina and NY?
Who is the third cat that can play chess?
How many gardens has she visited?

I'm playing this question-game to pass the time,
Laid on the white carpet and waiting for her.
Mockingly, she used to call me "High-Fidelity".
Norbert Tasev May 2020
In my happy Marsyas youth - since I am not much more hairless now, Love existed only as mutual fear and dread! Selfish love was Judas kiss Nothing else! The secret rupture lurked in his mouths, and in the moments he offered, the tongue remained silent so that he could mow down his relentless theses! The Eye blew tears, and the fear of the house rooted in our feet,

that in a fraction of a minute we became traitors to the sure Universe - and we didn't regret it, because it was good: We did the first ****** then! The silence whispered secrets over our heads: Our punishment is returned as stigma wounds by the eternity of our day! And where the wooden bridges of the heart were scorched by the compromising betrayal, there were vultures ranching! And because fragile existence has now begun to destroy the remaining stumps of the heart - all stateless

rehearsal: Momentary immortality ended sooner with the Act; We let ourselves be defeated: We cannot control our human brains, our complex and upset emotions. And that Mercy and grace are truly Human-hearted? Doubt and hopelessness endlessly carry out Prometheus' distrusts: There is no and cannot be a sure point in Life - one cannot know the laws of invisible decisions. It only vegetates with its life among those who exist meaningfully!

- In the end, we get out, - this time surely from Existence, that we did not dare in the eyes of the cathedral instead of the truth of our words; Whine confessions: Your lack is chasing suicide for sure, with stubborn stupidity about how much I love you! - I finally stayed what I was:

 Eighty-five percent of his body is a hairy-bodied forest dweller, to whom Being has immortally given a single nymph look, and who, because he had a slightly unfavorable physique, could only message in poems instead of the War of Kisses!

— The End —