The Munich Mannequins

Perfection is terrible, it cannot have children
Cold as snow breath, it tamps the womb

[...]

Unloosing their moons, month after month, to no purpose.
The blood flood is the flood of love,

The absolute sacrifice.
It mean: no more idols but me,

Me and You.
So, in their sulfur loveliness, in their smiles

The mannequins lean tonight
In Munich, morgue between Paris and Rome,

[...]
[...]

(by Sylvia Plath)

Those eyes I noticed last Saturday, I had actually seen them two years ago. I had stared when they were not seeing, only looking - those most beautiful eyes, so bright.

We'd just stare, and that was two years ago. And we'd only talk to our common friend, and that was all.

As I look at his eyes, my eyes go through some old pics and I feel nothing - cold as snow breath I am. And I look at another cold snow breath, much whiter than me, but you wouldn't say so - but no. Oh, that's his Aryan soul - but no!

Those bright clear eyes showed me the way to the Munich mannequins as I looked through my old pics. They are nothing but mannequins. Them, the Munich mannequins...

Danke, obrigada, thank you, and, most of all, Merci.