No
Man's Room
Her
description beamed into or from
my
mind unintentionally as water ripples listening to the wind
night
after night the stairways, old and creepy
announcing
the steps
walls
guiding the sound of human hands
whispering
and touching
each
others' warps, seldom preempted
with
love – her ass
should
be held firmly, within his hands, while
his
cigarette and his lighter
crossing
the street, approaching
the
heavy port
and
then the long way up - 5th floor with nothing
but
a lighter and a cold bed
waiting
inside
just the promise
of
another morning rising ahead and
the
instinct of
repetition
undoing,
doing – her name – back and forth
into
and from
his
mouth, as a lenitive
her
face, erased, as soon as his eyes
close
and the idea of failure settles
somewhere,
deep
never
mind why a man
crosses
the narrow street and joins her without a smile
because
he didn't - tonight he's alone
no
wife, no girlfriend – the key
should
be inserted smoothly
and
rotated
counterclockwise
©
2016, José Eduardo Coelho
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