Eka Kevanishvili (ეკა ქევანიშვილი)

Kind sir,
Untie my shoelaces.
My legs and white tennis shoes are resting in front of you.
Terribly tired with swollen-purple veins.
Sir, take off my clothing, what are you waiting for?
There are twelve buttons, undo them.
This coral-colored underwear,
This striped shirt grips my neck tightly,
These white socks
These worn-out jeans
I put on for these five minutes, for you
To wear them for five minutes is well enough,
That I need to slide smoothly into your parallel world
As if I’ve stepped into a mirror’s swell and turned into water.
Kind sir,
My face is at the disposal of your callused tongue—spare me the blue grease-paint.
How interesting, I wonder what remains instead of eyes.
Don’t worry about dust
While shuttling back and forth between these worlds,
Sometimes I’m on a dusty road—I’ll shake it off.
Sir, in fact I’m a terrible fashionista,
So strip me tenderly,
And don’t lose any buttons
Because when you are gone,
I must put on those clothes again,
Walk through another door and say:
What a hard day I’ve had, don’t question me.