At The Physiotherapist Poem by Sylvia Frances Chan

In the waiting room, I heard this strange soft conversation,
no, I was not at the psychotherapist.

come, my sweetheart, I invite you
come in my messy house
have not been cleaned up
I have been away for a long time
come back now with a bunch of luggage
I will clear the whole house
cleaning, cleaning everything up,

the big spring turn
that must come two months later

I want it now
to practice already
in my skepticism of moving
your skepticism of thinking

true love does not perish
it has only become so unnatural
this love does not release my empty brain
this brain is longing to be filled again
with tender words, tender embraces
a gentle treatment

as a physiotherapist handles
with his client
first, the bones cracked, then oiled
then he lets the bones lose on each other
they click immediately

then you do not hear anything anymore
as this hassle goes smoothly

that is how I wish my true love again
on the harness
true love does not rust
never fails

I hope
because I can not know what I do not know any more
but I can find out
if we still have it
try the last time
shamelessly
corrupted in all its fruitful love
that's life
you go for it
despite everything
the real love!



Photography by Sylvia Frances Chan: "Two empty chairs in Leek (Gr) ".

Do you think this was a normal conversation?
I have my doubts....
I just wanted to let you know how strange conversation that was.
I have heard more strange conversations, but this was the strangest!

© Sylvia Frances Chan
Copyright Protected

AD. Sunday the 18th February 2018- Still the Olympics at PyeongChang, South-Korea.
@ 5.00 hrs A.M. West-European Time
At this hour, still MINUS 3 below Zero, bit grey clouds.