pictures

you sending me pictures
while you cuddle her
and stay on her floor,
and in the morning
you knock on my door
with a coffee in hand.
why can’t i understand?
you sending me pictures
means nothing but that.
it’s in the smiles and the features,
in the phone that you tap
with fervor and ardor.
you sending me pictures
is wrong
while you cuddle her.
sleep on her floor
and knock on her door,
stop borrowing time
from this soul of mine.

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