1.
Every morning
I find you
still asleep,
sunk in the pillow
you smell of restless dreams.
I know the wrinkles, hairs,
your nose,
the teeth that peek
from under your lips.
I find you
in my regular
morning illusion.
I watch you
as you smile on the pictures
of areas plain for you,
that I find new.
Above the skies,
measuring the heights
in feet or meters,
while I let some stranger fly me,
I find you
showing me
the urban scars on the landscape.
I find you
in the objects
that never meant anything to me,
in some pathetic verses,
inside myself
I find you,
my only emptiness.
2.
We meet at my place –
you watch
the changing of day into night,
you analyze the movements
of clouds
and the speed of wind.
I, quite prosaically,
fix the bed
so for the next couple of months
it can fit two.
We meet at a lonely
industrial beech –
with my right ear I hear
the waves of the North Sea,
with my left one
I hear you fast heartbeat.
You, quite prosaically,
lift up my blouse,
in search of a piece of flesh.
We meet at the airport
lounge –
with our throats filled with blood,
quite prosaically,
we gargle about our
future separate lives.