(Villa Ružić)

Present. Perfect. Poetry

You are getting out of the bathroom after what you have done behind the closed doors. Between us is a small corridor with a large mirror. You are disappearing in the left corner, because there is a wardrobe. I want to see you naked in the mirror, so I flee from the computer and turn around: the only thing I see is my repeated face in a vast and abandoned space.

I return to my place before the face of the screen, striking the characters of my keyboard: shall I summon you in this way, shall I describe you? By confessing what I wanted I show how weak I am and this will take revenge on me in my future life, in the text.

But who would worry about that now? Where are you, I mean to say that this is important to me? What are you doing? What are you wearing, I am asking about the cover, about the end.

AuthorMiroslav Mićanović
2023-06-07T21:38:18+00:00 May 15th, 2014|Categories: Prose, Literature, Blesok no. 95|0 Comments