The Holiday of Doors

 The bulb

blows into my eyes tonight.

I look left, right,

up and down,

rotate my head.

Then I realise

my eyes are frozen in light.

I lie on the British couch

in a colorless room.

Through the window

the neighbours appear

like black and white.

Two bodies on a bed.

One body

dancing on another body

up and down.

I walk near the window.

Watch too long.

Ten minutes.

Twelve.

Fifteen.

The body

won’t stop dancing.

I stare so long

I feel I fall into the void

just like them.

Suddenly

the neighbour comes to the window

and waves at me.

I look.

Then shut the window.

I return to the couch

and stare

at the closed glass.

But my mind

keeps walking

into their bedroom.

The clock moves.

Something wakes

inside my underwear—

tightening

like a fist.

I wait.

The room waits.

Time floats in the air.

I hold hope

in my hands

that someone will come

and knock the door.

But I forget—

the doors

have gone

on holiday.