Taste of expectancy



  • The loneliness, the agonizing waiting. The door's lock click at the morning and clock's metronome for ten hours ahead. The body is shivered, because of the cold bedsheet on the floor, where we pleasured each other a moment ago, until the door slammed, which like a guillotine divided the time into “before” and “after”.

    I'm worried, watching you, when your eyes are looking into the void. What is the pay for the play? Or is it a play after all? Such thoughts – are the rain drumming over a metal roof, even we are near to each other. The tongue grows numb from that. Jealousy is a disgusting feeling, hope you forgive.

    The evening’s eve carries away the fear, the anguish. You’re somewhere now, breathing the dust of the traffic jams and overloaded streets, but rushing to be here. To be here for going mad of the my skin’s smell. To be here to hug and warm me. To cover my edge with your lips. To be a single entity.

    The door’s lock click. Is that you? What is waiting us today? However I shouldn’t think. Cause I’m just a wooden flute...






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