The monochrome faux leopard fur was
perfunctory thrown on her shoulders.
A mute reproach
a radiating mold of multiple reckless episodes–
that once… o yes! once…
a screaming rebellion of hypothalamus.
I pictured her in my mind,
in the middle of the subway platform–
dancing to the music of the approaching
and departing subway trains.
A smile from the past
and the fettering grip of the headphones
a symmetry of legs.
Her faux leopard is alive,
it is looking at me, through her eyes.
an arrhythmia of the eardrums.
She is dancing,
her chiming jewelry–
a potential Golden Calf.
It is dry in here,
(licking my cracked lips)
The air is enriched with ozone,
the skin is being slowly dressed in soot.
Her breasts, once were rich with milk,
now they are just two envying each other
“The competition makes us better!”
I feel the hungry gaze of the faux leopard–
We often make mistakes, confusing the reality
with the bended spoon.