The sensuality of the curve flowing
downward, touching the stiff black arms,
on its two sides, is undiminished
by the checkered, grey and black fabric
hiding the strength of steel partly exposed
underneath its structure.
It remained still, stowed under your desk.
No sound from the rollers pressing
on the carpet every time you shifted
your weight,
nor a squeak from the metal support
whenever you turned around my way.
But unlike me,
it doesn't care for your absence
nor for the silence of the space
where you once were.
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