07 Aug BLOGME TENDAL CCXXXVII: Senile Clothes-line
A trousers of pijamas, a panty, a cloth… This major lady is getting old, the sphincters and the recollections relax themselves and become present when they want not the person that they compose.
Every shed of clothes is one more wrinkle in the conscience, is one to know that you are old. Undoubtedly. Without return. The conscience, which is like a fox, prunes to deny the evidence, but the shed of the clothes denies and denies the trap.
She slept. And she woke up, a usual awakening or the middle of the night one: A precipitated awakening by the warm dampness felt suddenly. And after to be cleaned with the cloth and the clothes to be washed at once to avoid that the stink to pissed betrays the evidence of she is getting old. Undoubtedly. Without return.
The plants, green always, always new, they are the proof that her hands took care much of the others, and of herself, what she could
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