Once a year, you wear the mermaid’s shoes. The moment is asked by a certain desire to excite the tourists of the town.
You go from the bed to the mirror as if you walked on waters, stirring the dust of the day.
“They feel quite comfortable”, you say to me proudly, although you limp a little.
I don’t do anything else than to creep in the mirror and watch you.
Horatiu Stamatin
http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/ars-poetica-9/
