The art of dressage
I feel the edge of the bed and tie the rickety lions hanging on my shoulders. It is winter. I prop the vicuña and once the horses tied at the waist, shake arms swans. It buttoning the feline heart. Condor's eyes waiting for me at the jeweler. I open the box and turn a dancer. A figure stupid as I disguise the muzzle, it slows down. I would jump in and take the lead in the world, but the Cheetahs are without ironing. I'll have to settle for these legs of a woman who is dragged into the machine, that takes the spoons from the drawer and cabinet cup. On the cupboard, still haunts the murky reptile released during sleep. He watches me. Knows that catch it again. I have to lock him before he jumps on my head and my poor body dehanding tamed.
Isabel Gonzalez
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