This is I and I am the wood in the furniture and décor.
She sits at the bar on a three-legged stool. Our legs caress. She is wearing a red wool coat and smokes a cigarette as she sips a cocktail. I brace myself for the searing pain – there is no ashtray in sight.
She glances my way and admires the forest of medusan-trees hanging on the wall.
She walks through me and her scarf brushes my polished surface as I stand guarding the marble-tiled restroom.
She smells like ripe cherries. I smell of wood polish. Beneath her animality she is just like me.
Thanks for the prompt Rochelle Wisoff-Fields. SHALOM.