the miniaturist. poem by yolanda mora

Publicado por Anónimo

it will be 22.nothing will happen.

sex is in the head and you are hurt.

he paints. he..s the miniaturist.

i love him.

i am a geisha for him.

tiny and silver, a little joan of arc.

my sandals excite him.

the sandals of every girl.

every man adores every girl.

the smell of you. deodorized.

your beard. and you need a shower, Lolita.

i found you in Treblinka.

you find me fat and impure.

i needed kisses, kisses, kisses.

you are reborn again with me.

you are my husband again.

it will be 22.

nothing will happen.

i just pray st.teresa, s.freud

not to go mad

mad at it, mad because of it, 22.

it..s so difficult to kiss you with the

Valle Inclán..s beard.

and you are scrawny.

i am Marilyn Monroe- bust and butts.

of course i am nor Marilyn Monroe.

what do you desire?

you say you want ME.

i found you so Treblinka-like.

you found me and kissed me.

i love you, i love you, baby,

Father of my child.



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the rumors are

not to see you again.

you hurt me

but hurt is a beautiful music.

i love,

i love,

i love-

i..ve been to HELL-ehn..s house too.



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you were pushed down the stairs.

a foot between your feet.

you fell down. yet

you are not broken.

broken legs, broken arms

arms to hold me tight.

am i pushing you too?

miniatures in your hidden pocket.

not broken. intact.

we both paint.

i paint sister..s face.

big. you are small.

i demand, i demand too much

i am 2 years old

i have one sister of one month.

i paint hated sister..s face.



i..ll have a baby as well.

you, father of my child:

i am 2 years old

it..s my right to demand:

i take pictures of all that.

the hurt shows in your beautiful face.