WAITING FOR THE MAN...

I imagine to be a woman
Standing still with her back pressed into the wall
White and soft
Its cold, smooth surface embraces her tightly
As if a dream
There is a stream of Spring in her veins
A pause between two breaths
So gentle
Like a kiss that comes in silence
Love that has been made on a sultry evening
Long and wet
Quiet solace...

Accross the room the film projector displays images
Slowly
The hand made of light breaks through the room
To rest on her breast
Yellow and green fields of Tuscany are dressing up her flesh
She dances as the snapshots pass away
As if absorbed by the tissues like a while-lasting tattoos
Only visiting her skin

Busy streets of Dublin cross on her stomach...