rope dancing

[…] a thin line separates the whitish ceiling from the light blue wall in front of me, allowing my thoughts to walk on it as if along a knife’s metallic edge while trying to not fall in any of the two shallow unicoloured worlds fringing that path that leads towards the unreality of my ramblin’ dreams. *breathe, God damn you! breathe!* a shadow goes, a shadow comes, my eyes refuse to blink, staring at that line, enjoying the salty acupuncture of tears that try to save my cornea from drying up due to overexposure to oxygen. the taste of basil tea still lingers on my tongue, for fault of some more sophisticated flavor *BREATHE!* – I wonder if angels’ tisane tastes just the same, like boiled holy water…today I’m lazy in my moves and words, thinking is just another level in the topography of my agenda, but that thin line is so appealing, teaching my gaze how to tango on it, how to ignore the stridence of sunlight’s chords as they jump with joy on the skin of my hands and on the striations of my iris. winter is shooed away from the lands of my silence and I’m suddenly glad that death decided to pay me a visit on a spring day […]

© Liliana Negoi

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Comments
One Response to “rope dancing”
  1. yelena says:

    ‘I wonder if angels’ tisane tastes just the same, like boiled holy water…’ – oh my, how i adore to bathe in your words……..

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