Legs are long, I can feel them under me as they make my body undulated slowly, a leaf in the breeze. I walk alone in the dark, my skin mirrored the moon and each step cuts a ribbon of black velvet sky. I do not turn back as the pieces slides and twirl on their way down caressing the inside of my stems. I don’t know if it is cold or hot, I only smell the ocean nearby. It is the wet and the salt in front of my nose, the sound of the wind and the rushing music of the waves smashing on the shore. Who can possibly read the future with the patterns they leaves on the rock or sand like the gipsy in the tea leaves or in the putrid guts of the deads?
I do not want to see the future. I wish so hard to travel in the past. The rhythm of my scissor legs chopping the night away blurs all my senses as my wish come true. The salt fade away and the dryness burns my throat. It is a different night, one that can’t be cut by the move of my legs. I am in the train with no human. They added a wagon for you, but why…you are not human. The enduring vintage look suits the surroundings. I can see you clearly starting to make coffee in the middle of this long lived but beautiful train wagon. A theatrical set full of earthy and golden lights. You kneeling in the center as the main protagonist. The cowboy, eyes wide open in incredulity is standing at a certain distance. My immateriality is as define as the strength of your presence. We form an equidistance magical trinity where you are the only entity making any sense. He doesn’t and I don’t.
I try to feel my legs again because they are the wings who carry me to you, but they left me. No I left them on the shore and I know I won’t find them again.
When I open my eyes, tens of black velvet ribbons are tangled in your large hand as you throw them in the fire. The price of a well earn coffee for you and him.