Like Pygmalia breathing life into ivory, and I wonder how the ivory must
have felt, I am sure it did not thaw or defrost like I did, microwaved within
seconds, dripping liquid unknown for some time, the right buttons were
pushed all right, a phone call beyond midnight, an orphaned one it turns out,
unparaded by Miss Hannigan, unadopted by Angelina Jolie, unacknowledged
later, unadmitted the second day, yet unedited in its live version, the fleeting
moment did occur, beep, beep, line broken, let’s beep in touch – knowing
we will not, and what’s the life span of ivory these days anyway, silent is
the Beirut night amid the prayers of the practicing atheists, ungrateful is its
morning, speak not of darlings, talk not of loves, utter not excuses, justify not
deeds, just think of all the ivories, brittle and cold as porcelain when breathed
life into.