He turned the lights off
and pretended to grow deaf
at the nagging of the internal drum
His trembling hands began to stroke
the smooth ivory skin
he had been tracing in his mind
for many a sleepless nights
Two fell, cheap table frames
and the indubitable shattering of their glasses
into a thousand pieces
finally lent honesty to his ears
And the trembling hands
were now icy cold on his bowed face
He half expected her to scamper
like a house pest seizing an escape,
but she lingered for an hour
Her innocent presence
comforted him,
yet was also mocking
and calling him names
The next month,
he’ll find out
It was him
inside the trap
His manicured suit
and impeccable hair
momentarily reminded him of the frames
when they were still on the table
He wanted to stay in the memory
and tried to smile again
But monsters in the panel
are looking at an ogre more despicable
He searched for the plainest speech
but the words came out
like nauseating infantile cries
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem