Friday, February 27, 2009

THE CYCLE OF STAINS


the windows are left open. 
no sign of inhabitance inside the empty space.
sending away your slow pace, 
the room.
that intimate troubled space.
 where you first discovered one another bodies.
the door opens before your hands reach the handle.
the sudden rush of a thousand visions of roses and mirrors reflecting 
you.
yourself making love.
the space never seemed so full of distorted hidden feelings. 
you visualize the bed, you visualize where she stored herself
you visualize her, inhale her.
a room can never be replaced by a past person. 
the truth. 
never was so decadent. 
the truth is she is a room,
an inner mind seeking intimacy.

the female zoo