You and the morning —
You come too soon
Fattening the longing
To butcher it at noon
When we’re outside
Away from our room
And you seek and I hide
In the room of my gloom
Touching my axe
Until there are blisters
And it becomes lax
And the liquid glisters
Under
The midday sun
I plunder
What I once won.
The milky remains on your thighs —
It’s what is left and lost in the inside
Distilling into clean and tidy lies
Until we fall for another ride.
The only thing that can not be darkened
By shadow — is fire
Such truth deserves to be exiled and punned
And its speaker called a liar.
The fire teases and takes a bite
And turns our squeaky bed into a pyre,
It pierces the dark with its angry light
Hence now I can imagine a black bonfire.