Dearest

In our home there are a lot of over-sized Victorian
furniture that are really impractical. Like a round wooden table
we rarely use because a vase of arranged flower
takes up most of its surface, or the piano

that nobody ever touches anymore. Our balcony
is a garden with flowers of every color, hidden
fifteen floors above the ground. Visitors probably do not notice
the tea set of translucent burgundy, on our intricate coffee table,

beside the polished leather sofa, between the golden lamps.
They may not notice the chandelier, or the white candles
on the wall, not before they sniff through the lavender and jasmine
which, never happens because of the paintings.

Paintings on every wall capture their attention the moment
they step in: classics of roosters, rivers, streets and salons, with golden
frames so heavy that it is impossible for one person to lift
them in place. Visitors may not notice, that our lights are dimmed.

But I notice,
I notice the twin bone towers
overlooking
the round wooden table.


( Afterthoughts... )