Hmm... Strange Story

It was too late.
I wanted to reach your mouth,
I had to make an effort
stretching to the tips of my toes and then
it flashed through my mind -
I was losing you,
each kiss inflating your lungs with air, pride, desire...
suddenly your feet disconnected from the ground
and you floated away.

I tried to jump, to hold on to your shoe,
I missed my hold
and now I hang on to the shoe
hoping some miracle of gravitation will pull you back into it
again.
But there are no miracles of gravitation.
Same like no single shoed lovers.
My last memory of you that of glimpsing underneath your skirt
and recognizing the color of your new underwear,
the one you pulled to your hips this morning
after thrashing the old one in that terrible battle
opposing our bodies
and leading to our perdition... and of our underwear.
I was wearing new shorts as well,
had to buy them in the shop across from the hotel.

I should not have kissed you so many times,
or maybe I should have stepped on your foot
even though it might have hurt.
Now I cry into the shoe,
sitting on a bench in the park
my tears dropping to ground through the big toe hole,
at least if it would have been a closed shoe...

Lover, lover...
my heart jumps as a pigeon dumps the other shoe on my head
then he poops and I hardly have the time to eschew the missile
and I hear the tiny bells of your laughter somewhere above me...
where are you woman,
to skin you of your robes and deprive you of your lungs?...

I see your huge bosom slowly floating down...
hold me... you pant,
and I hardly have time to catch your elbows
that you open your shirt and hundreds of pecans cover our feet
ankle deep, knee deep, thigh deep...
let’s run away before we are buried mouth deep...
and I start running,
dragging your floating shape at the end of my outstretched hand
your billowing skirt a colored balloon,
your hysterical laughter a nightingale’s crystal nightmare,
the damn pigeon going along for the ride on your big toe.

Wait a moment... you shriek as we reach the hotel
and I leave you dangling upside down
holding on to the flag pole
your skirt tucked modestly between your thighs
(the pigeon still attached to your toe... what the hell?...)
and I rush across to the shop buying two pairs of shorts
and two pairs of panties (transparent of course) just in case
then I drag you down next to me
the pigeon fighting me like a falcon but I win,
through the revolving doors
up the stairs
the room door... sorry, should not have let go of your hand,
I apologize kissing the bump on your head
then letting you ravish my body and ravage my mind
disregarding pigeons thumping down the windows
and neighboring guests thumping down the walls.

I knew it. I should have bought more than two pairs.
Each.