Mural Art: Magia Trece Poetry and Photography: Oana Maroti
He murmurs the refrain of a melancholic song
And puts on some high-heeled shoes.
There is a corner of femininity in that big room.
The bottle of antique perfume pulls the trigger on the attraction.
As he measures the lines of his own figure in the mirror,
perfumes the interior with a rose scent,
breathes deeply satisfied,
picks up a pen, starts playing with it
Hum. Now I can write.