The Room

The room listened
and with a sepia lament,
It recited stolen poems
behind her blue velvet curtains.
The room hid sometimes
It envied the conquest of lovers
and the sway of the sheets
that ended up bursting by the tide.
Sometimes, it longed to be an intimate hideaway.
But then, it remembered the tragedies
that still made it languish.
It already had many years of silence.
years of wishing the incessant rain,
and share coffees and cigars,
while the cycle, of the stunted trees,
padded by snow, repeated.
It was an expert in groping for
the crashing breaths,
and caress the vertigo
of the bed that levitates.
Now, the room is just a dry land.