Your family not travelling with you?
No, they just didn’t feel like it this time.
Are you staying at the usual place?
Yep, the usual. Pretty tacky. Maybe that’s why I like it. I still haven’t been to your place.
No.
I wrote about it already in one of my poems though. I said you kept mandrake’s root under your bed and that your grandma still kept a fully-manned, gigantic servants’s quarter.
Wrong about the mandrake’s root, but the servants’s quarter, that sums up the whole place–pa-lace.
I stole the mandrake’s root from Donne.
I thought you stole it from Pan’s Labyrinth. You wrote that other poem about watching the movie with your ex-girlfriend, I thought you stole again from the same movie.
Maybe I did. In Pan’s the root is kept under the little girl’s bed, isn’t it?
It is. Seperti di puisimu tentangku.
The air was hot like always at this time of the year. The man tried to look into the woman’s eyes each time he spoke, out of both courtesy and desire. The woman sometimes returned the stare, sometimes played with the rabbit ring on her right ring finger.
Divagyrations 