The gloves
I went through a market to look for ingredients for a cake. I missed the expensive fruit, otherwise I didn't care.
Then a scene caught my eye, such a sight I never forgot. Like when the owner was gone when you grabbed it, were you there for minutes or hours?
Black, made of leather, a pair of gloves, bedded, as if to rest in sleep, in the middle of the fruit for sale, was the owner alive, even dead?
They seemed to yearn for the pears, which are resting peacefully in the basket. So I left them in constant rest, they went perfectly with the fruit.
More Poems on Games and Poetry: Cheated The signal Der kuss The giant The call of evil The raid The lost sheriff The Christmas Accident The witness Strange world Onomatopoeia - sounds Travel around the world city guard Staring eyes Statue throwingOriginally posted on 2019-05-15 21:07:27.
