Flakes In Palm Poem by Nassy Fesharaki

Flakes in palm

Sculpture; I became again
stood still; flesh but metal, rock
as I did years ago in prison, Palace.

Then and now
my eyes to the sky
devoted to falling flakes
on my eyebrows, face
and moustache; in eyes.

Pleasant is the melting
of flakes on skin
as was in Moscow
on my chest.

"What a hot man! "
Said the Russian woman.

I could never make love with
the flakes in my palm.

Sadly…
they melt before I kiss them…