THE READER OF THE TOUCH was fired.
Actually, he forgot his own language.
For there where the touch was
now a merciless clutch coils,
python-like, crawling in the bed and stammering
instead of talking, strangling instead of caressing.
And the speaker of the body was fired, too.
Actually, he never really had a job.
For there where the body mattered,
words were overflowing,
caressing instead of strangling,
talking instead of touching.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.