Do Professional Footballers Wear Jockstraps?

shadow between the sheets (reissue)

DOMAI.COM-
Misha by slastyonof, shakhabalov










This woman is naked
awake yet.

I expected and yet it is lonely.

I've dreamed of and yet there



there Oceania
is full of cliffs and Celtic.

should not be she who kissed me on the mouth
fell asleep in the corner of a poppy gray
and drink in the sun a fire from another world.
No, nothing like that
not .

why your hip is just a round
a silhouette curve, geometric madness that unsettles the poet
mutated in mathematical
you want to measure, qualify
centered on the lens machine that triggers

contain pixels in the eye, in the hollow of his left hand and follow

polishing these background details, the light, the reflection of the street
noise filtering with the really loud.

Details, which was not, are, were,
- why important?,
but is that the height, waist navel


recessed nipple
annoying annoying annoying

like your lips lips
these red lips just a flutter
fingers.
who want to prevent the birds fly like
like wings, her bare arms
are two wings still.

Standing, his mouth never kissed my lips
those fragile aura of soft flesh
is just a perfect smile

perfect diamond



perfect and her hair fire red
,

reddish


fire off the sea and wake up dreaming that dreams are
perfect perfect perfect

and then painting, photography, prints
fabric draws it on the air, he
fingers loose wood carving of a red oak tree fall, fire
lengths and malts, cradles, sleeping in his hip
that is so round and so perfect
but who cares
no matter its size or that equilbrio
falling to the obliquity of his left shoulder
falls down, straightens, you know that this size of
imported freight is down, you change the kickstand, routine, again, the other foot, mouth ethereal makeup on the lips, stockings, waist, navel, light, screen, window .

She is still there, with their questioning eyes and I'll

awakening but I'm asleep dreaming that
and no longer drawing, or paint or sculpt, or discuss cross
only an occasional word with the warm shade
between the sheets. Full
again glass cup, glass, diamond
abandoned the brush, chisel, oil, olive essences
Arabic forget the camera lens,

hand is passed
upset by their own eyes, swollen
and leans his binge drinking and Scottish malts
rhyming words and music would have you believe outdated
that is capable of owning the perfect dream perfect
a warm woman hovering between the sheets.

Like any poet's dream
closed but open hand fingers, and she comes flying over your eyelids
the lullaby
a perfect perfect perfect woman
and flies over the ledge, fading into the sheets at night .















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