Come, meet me at the door;
there’s a small lamp – a chandelier,
hook up to the ceiling’s floor,

touch it but do not see it

see it and you will feel it

feel it and you will regret it

For you,
I walk with my head not with my feet.

Look! There is the street, wait for me.

Since Sunday, the orange tree
gives mandarins,
some say it’s inevitable
it’s roots were intertwined,
becoming one…

Yes. it gives no more oranges but tangerines.

may be my toe nails are hairs.
they are black and thick,



I blame genetics

may be my feet have eyes
and my head has nails

some say when I stare,
I hammered into them chills
till they freeze
and bleed

may be, I’m like that orange tree.

Since Sunday,
I walk with my head and not with my feet,
I walk with my eyes on the ceiling’s floor
and not on the streets,

may be,
I am intertwined,
becoming one…

yes, with you:



Written by: L.L.

August 15, 2016


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