Dressed and ready, as the sun is bright and one bird is whistling notes in the trees, I read again the poem that I read last night, the first from Dream Flowers (Fleurs de Reve) by May Ziadeh.
This is the book I found accidentally then when I was looking online to see if there were more image-words of hers, having thought the book couldn’t be found anymore. The author name on the document is her penname. (Let’s forget about pennames ☺️)
Sometime after I had gone to sleep last night, I felt the bed sink down just a little near my legs and feet. I saw that no one was there, and that Peeko hadn’t jumped onto the bed, and so I closed my eyes again. It was then I felt a gentle, slow movement on each of my ankles, one and then the other, like someone was touching them as if to comfort me or appreciate me, and I felt the touch more than the feeling of hands.