The gift

You add me on Facebook, we start to chat. You live in Jerusalem but today you’re in the white city. My apartment is right next to the Czech ambassy.
 
Teenagers are getting out from the school nearby but it’s all so quite. Third floor, we drink some tea, the deaf dog is the living room. There’s a nice breeze but I feel warm because of you. 
 
You are next to me, tasting like like a wide summer field full of ripe fruits, your brown eyes are hypnotic. Your ripped body is a Middle Eastern version of a Canova statue. You dance even when you are not dancing. Your feet never stop to talk. 
 
We are swallowed from the grayish-yellow room and you make me feel like I am your European prince. You are my king when we go out of the building, through the dark stairwell that smells of Economica.