I remember the green-patterned fabric
of the smoke-enhanced sofa
that we used to spend hours on
in the most horizontal position possible,
and how you told me to ignore
the sound of the pocket watch you had,
as it ticked from seven to eight to nine,
and I knew it’s that time now,
when my face will be buried
in those red-stitched flowers of a thick quilt.
It was like waiting for a permission
to tear the wrapping
off the present
just to find out
it’s not what you’ve wished for.
My mind is good at keeping
little unimportant details about the past.
I remember a frayed label on your black sweatshirt,
and it was the only piece of clothing
that witnessed me going
into a vertical position after a very long time.
You imprinted a permanent habit in me
to always look at men’s shoes,
because you told me
that is the only thing that intimidates them.
if they are looking at you
and craving sex.
It was such a good tactic of defense,
I think I knew all shoes in my city.
– Chatty Owl –