the last place to type
a sense of some
of ambiguity and anger
plenty of sheets and fabrics that will blow and bustle
and we are not counting on the door opening
for we are already outside in the black night
in the beaches
but still
the unnecessariness of “door”
is abolished by
the alternatively present slowfingers and anger
and thru black veils
long and horizontal
cased in the veils
what are they?
nothing but the fabrics
comprised by the darkhaired boy’s head
arranged in such a way
so as to create a wall
of veils
but for his eyes
they escape from a veil
to be made
i see him
he sees me
we recognize
that we recognize
each other and suddenly
the veil is no longer
a veil
but his individual hairs
and the understanding
of kisses
shall precede
the understanding
of what happens next
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