a glimpse

it is repeatedly
not what is said
but the inbetween
that touches our hearts
and mends them together
in a dance
that says in silence
so much more
than anything i could ever say

.

But I remember Andi.
It is a story of words although I remember vividly how he lit his self made cigarette in the dim warm light of an old oriental lamp. His books and music collection matched my taste and the taste of his body was fresh and innocent and warm almost like it was a good thing. Yes, I don't remember much of what was said in those intimate hours that led to feelings of complete humiliation and regrets towering against an otherwise cleancut blue early summer sky.
I remember that he had a brother and he likes, ironically, outdoor adventures just as much as I did and while I was daydreaming of us making wild sweet love in wild sweet meadows or in the back of his amiable VW bus he told me about how he made at least seven women scream and cum and explode their brains and it wasn't until later that I understood that it was scarred hearts that remained. And only now I realize the red lights that should have been flashing when he boasted with something that was absent in our time.

Another night I let him come and cum again, he left within seconds afterwards mumbeling some dumb words not giving silence one chance to breath.
It was a nice light setting then too but my friends room and I don't know whether I even made it to the shower to wash off the humiliating feeling dripping off my fingers like a sticky disgusting summer sweat.

The lessons learned were hard to digest. Thinking back never gave me any pleasures except for maybe the first night behind the bar in the vastness of the rusty sculpture park. There were stars at last and mind blowing virginity of the moment.

Everything else is and should remain a faint and slurry blur. My only words that I draw from those moments of silence that he couldn't see are the following:

Affairs only really make sense when you are sexually experienced. When you know what makes you cum. When you have had the opportunity to fully trust someone.

and when the other person knows about the perfectness and uniqueness and the value of a now.

carpe diem
carpe noche

trust

the trust it was broken and you damaged it
it was you
there is no second guessing
and you
who i love

so there was my eagerness to forgive
but i didn't know that forgiving is not forgetting
and it is not a decision
but a long journey
on the back of a broken sad heart.

there was trust shattered
again and again
and
how can you demand me
to trust you

when i feel the scar of that injured trust
rub up against my heart
all this time

.

trust, just as forgiving
a journey
not a decision

fear

it is in fear that we lie.
what an uncomfortable and terrible way of being laid.
it is a bigger fear that unties a knot of lie

it is unconditional love only that resolves the fear beneath.

i am not mad at you.
i feel pity
i might be sad.
i might want to cry into the evening sky.
but
i am not mad

my own imperfections tower above me like a shadow straight out of a nightmare.
you bare with me
i bare with you

maybe that's another thing
about
what they call


love

mater dola rosa

white black red
there they go
in a dance that was never meant to end


feeling like a virgin again
teddybear clutched to sleep
don't know what was
don't know what was

is this a mare from a distant star
is this a dream dreamt by a blossoming

maybe i am
there

quiet quiet calm no storm
there is someone

names dropped, fell on the floor
a stranger will come later through my door
alone but not alone
sharing but not
a delicate balance that could fail or fly

melodies weaving in
the warm sleepy coat
blankets innocent like years before
and no names were known

as violins rise
and violence subsides
and bleeding flowers cry

if i was
if i was
if i am
i will rise again
kissing the morning sun
pale like my breath
trying to grasp a spiteful of delusions

don't know what was
don't know what was

a lover
a star
a moon
a frozen lake
to dance on

blossoming

you love me with such an unexpected tenderness, passion subliminal, that my dreams get swept away in a sweet and swift rush of warmth,tickling my cells, breaking open rusty doors with the ease of a magician.

inside, there is the unspeakable. the fragile that can tear a whole world of destruction and disappointment and disillusion apart. that,which is more than a dream. maybe only poets could grasp these words, these fragile birds, who have been abused and misused for too many times.

outside there are the hungry wolves and vultures lingering and waiting for the words to break into pieces. beauty, veiled in, to leave the living sacred, to protect the heart beyond the palpable matters.

ah, if you only knew what beauty you create, you, you, who kills mockingbirds with words painting the picture of a broken demon, a loser, a pathetic fuck.
ah, if you only knew what beauty you create, you, you, -every moment you touch me with your warmth, your black eyes, your breath so sweet
like a blossoming

beneath the dream

beneath the dream there is a realm of possibilities.

a rain of possibilities

come back

Beneath the surface of the dream there is hell. Dark, rotten, screaming,

DARK ROTTEN SCREAMING