Number 21

Melting broken words,
unknotting longing arms –
band now my waist,
squeeze me
with your care.

I am riding
the glass line
of the Equator:

Pour me wine,
let me clean
the corner of your chest,
you did not bring
any armor today.

Turn my face,
approach my lobe,
suck out
the thoughts of you
this skull
is trying to conceal.


My forehead staining the window:
pointing at
patchy meadows,
smeared clouds,
rolling mountain ranges;
still I am overjoyed:

My mind is on you
and on the prelude
that this is
to us.


Number 13

You are the season that keeps me awake

The endemic smile sewn on this sun

this nippy sun

Finding myself awake from a painful sleep

of memories

bad moves

how many do we still consume together?


You are the restless conversation

the finger sliding on the brim

when my sight is halted

the eyes that are not observing

digging in a shallow



You are the trip, the plane, the train

The car with no fuel

The road with no sign

You are the rainy day when my map is not plasticized

The extra charge on my dinner bill

You are the short blanket, the cat that doesn’t purr, the host with no wine

You keep me sitting at the edge of this chair

While holding my hand firmly

Like you would do with a kite

You are afraid to see fly away.




Number 7

Rattled, delightfully unstable over some water ground, cold in the cheeks and soggy in the pants.

I ride over the cabblestones, over the mortal tram lines, over the hills which used to scare me and the shops who don’t call at me.

There is you, there is only you everywhere…

I am scared to fall.
‘Shake it off’, a voice urges inside me.
‘What if you don’t?
What if you don’t fall?
Are you more scared of that?’