by Maximiliano Guzmán
Silent night.
The neighbors are asleep.
And in the dark kitchen
you drink aged red wine.
And you remember me without passion.
Too lazy.
Spellbound and bored.
Too fanciful.
You light a menthol cigarette.
You strip.
You look at yourself in the mirror.
You put out the cigarette with the tip of your tongue.
You don’t feel sadness anymore
You don’t feel the cold anymore.
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Maximiliano Guzmán is an author from Argentina, with work recently published in Expat Press, HAD, Don't Submit, and Midcult.