The Best Years of Our Lives
We travel over beds
tired from yet another habit
the bodies
of young and beautiful gods
have turned into the bodies
of enemies
the bed we
spent years in
became the museum
of ossified passions
and still we have a reason
to turn our backs
on one another
when we switch off the light
I lost you
unwittingly, without effort
and once more we’ve become
the beautiful losers
helium dolls
in the bright windows of bars
the sun floats
above the frozen park
lighting up the arid winter landscape
the biggest crowd
is in the bus to the cemetery
only the wind is
lonelier than us