Phantasrealismus

although my humble idea about you vanished
through lips, I got confused
with my bare hands I ripped your silk dress
and threw it to the dogs in one of those nights
when they got mad
sometimes I wait near the phone
an old one you’ve used to manipulate me
when being away
on the floor morning finds me
naked

I walk thousands of miles in the same room
through the same brown furniture that entrapped
your fingerprints when fire burst into the pipes
of your body
I still feel those flames within the scars of my
thenars

now, go away, be part of the wood
be one with the ground
and selfish

feel my steps searching you?

© Marius Surleac