Beneath the clamor of wooden echoes,
the desk lamp quietly pines
for the touch of her gaze
that ignites
infinite constellations
within hollow cores.

The velvet armchair knows secrets
of tangled legs intertwining,
covered by the weave heavenly!
Dreams breathed out like smoke rings,
longing for voluptuous embraces
stole stolen in whispers.

Electric fans murmur gentle breezes,
blowing through the tangled confessions
of dusty promises
set ablaze under sultry ink
against secrets stored in geriatric
door hinges snapping shut.

Do chairs in lobbies never wonder,
how leans and perches denote love
etched wood yearning for kisses
threaded in the needle’s eye of fate,
invisible threads shaping moments crafted
into half-heard ballads?