Craving to harvest
the dew-like moments from your
skin; my endbegin.

We are like a pair
of scissors: alone - useless
blades of solitude,  
but together - Atropos'
shears cutting the thread of fate.

Being ancient but
perky I am not here
for you to bond my

strength, to lock me like
a djinn into a bottle
for making a wish

as and when you wish
but to guide your sailboat through
wild, choppy waters,

just to play with your
hair, to cool the fever and
kiss the tearful face of yours.

Yesterday an old,
dusty notebook appeared on
my desk which I have

never thought to read
or even open again.
It was the book of

days filled with your words;
heart shards of mine which I kept
for another life;

for another me.
But now on I cannot tear
apart my gaze from

its pages for I yearn
to morph into one with your
own vowels and consonants.

A rumor has it
there is an open season
for breaking hearts, but
I have never thought that you
are going to shatter mine.

Last night when the first
snow fell I was hovering
on the doorstep of

yours anxiously and
wringing my hands without a
dare to knock, even

my voice was laced by
unspoken poetry and
only stuttering

came out of my mouth.
I wanted to act; to love
out loud and fill the

space in between, but
under the shadow of a
doubt this void was made to grow.

The chimera of
yours, the only unextinct
creature in your bleak

bestiary; that's
what I really am:
formed from one-half love

and one-half throe by
you. But I recognized my
borders by learning

your limits for I
wish to forge my own path out
from your false mythology.

Trying to find my
solace in the moon of the
Fall for I lack the

lunar halo and
the velveteen, onyx shade
of yours. I wish to

be the one who at
once will make you whole, but you
are still concealing;

still hiding thyself
away behind a moonbeam
smile like a helpless

umbra does in the
sheltering embrace of the
dazzling paraselene.

I want to exile
from this still-life (though it is
still life), but I found

so hard even my
own motion within those stiff,
immobile patterns

of living... How knows?
Maybe there is no rise and
fall, but the gaudy

illusion; the cold,
inevitable stasis
of dried paint spots on a wall.

"How long is now?" - you
asked and I was aware that
there is no after

after this we have
already reached the end; the
end of our very

beginning. So, it
is on us now whether to
dare to step one step

further into the
livelong midst ere we happen
to lose the track of our time.

In this capricious
age of comings and goings
of the other side

I am blessed
for I can submerge into
your aegis, your undermind.

I am running
out of daylight and in this
forgotten chasm, soon

I will meet my own
fate to become star-blinded
But I do not mind.

My telluric heart
is going to lose its poor
blindspots of stifling

sobriety by
embracing your ravenskinned,
asterisk lighted nightshade.

In this downpour of
nil a blinding fog descended
and a venomous,

absinthe-mindedness wrapped all
over me, thus all of my
senses were out of order.

Falling into the hyacinth sky as
your mouth is filled with my name:
I am eternal.

Within your system
of abstract data I'm the
invariable
one; the broken semaphore
who yearns for an error-patch.

I wish to return
aboveground to take a walk
with the wind and shake
off this stupored, spirit-mood;
this deranged daze by your side.

Trying to fathom
the science of colours, the
beautiful swarm of
shades and tinges: the abyss
and the heaven in your eyes.

Breaking the habit by breaking the heart
inch by inch, gaze by gaze: it's
a dark matter of time.

Must confess something:
I realized that for now
I do not know the

time of need for you
have become too important,
too much loved. I'm not

afraid of you but
the possibility what
this feeling could do with me.

I become a real
mermaid by your side, but just
like in that danish

fairy-tale, I shed
no tear when I cry; make no
sound when my heart is

broken; smile when I
dance on razorblades of your
human love; cease to

exist by turning
to sea foam when the love of
yours toward me is no more.

Uttering those words
out loud as if they 'd been just
discovered, you did
bring them into their knees like
a newfound land's conqueror.

This heart of mine is
a wanderer nomad and
now it is on the

loose. It became wroth
and restless for the mind is
bowed down; the shameful

armistice is now
signed. Because it is still
aware that if it

gave upon on you,
if it ceased to love, it would
cease to beat eternally.

There is no doubt that
you have the endless power
to destroy me. The
real question is, whether you
intend to do it or not.

“The scent of your light
envelopes all over and
spirits me away from here.”

“And thus, I go with
you; the sound of your shadow
snatches me in this half light.”

Recently you descried that
The hands of mine were
Full of crimson scars,
Like the beads of a rosary.
”What are these wounds
On your palm?” you asked.
”Were they caused by
The elisabethian roses of your garden?”
I said nothing, just (but) smiled blushingly,
But then later, while you fell asleep,
I leaned closely and whispered
My secret in your ears:
„In fact, all of these are
Stigmata of our love.
But possessing them makes me happy;
I wear them proudly.”

Under the sour light
of the summer moon, when the
asphalt maze exhales

heatness we come and
ensemble at Teufelsberg
just to pile up the

broken and rusty
pieces of our outcasted
heart, hoping that if

we exchange them like
puzzles of the autumn we
will able to build new ones.

It felt better when
I believed: that the cat in
the box still had the

chance. And now the box
is open and I hate to
be aware of the

scientific fact
that the cat is no more; she
did not manage to

survive the cruel
experiment. I hated
for I learned: she was Love.

I wish I could be
there and wade through the blue with
you to wind your spring.

We almost danced,
but in the end we faked
the pas with stumbling.

Your genesis I
need: the very first words of
the story of me,

I yearn for you to
put me down into words and
say: "Shall we begin?"

Back in those days, who
broke your wings that now on, though
you are healed at last,
you cannot even bear the
sweet thought of flying itself?

...and the angel covered his
eyes with another world's light
for her penumbra was not
enough to perceive.

Beneath the deep lakes
of your soul, there's no need to
swim for I cannot

drown. It's a holy
water, a sacred one and
long ago before

this world could have you,
before you were born into
this fragile body

of yours by washing
all over me you turned the
bitter tears of mine

into your sweetness
of joy like Okeanos. From
you, I could never

gulp down enough for
I forget to remember
but remember to

forget at the same
time, because one side of yours
is Lethe and the

another one is
Mnemosyn, thus to here and
now I can always belong.

These strides of mine are
so heavy as I am
going down on these

stairs taking one step
after another for I
am aware that

they are about to
give birth to a starving-dark
void between the two of us.

Nurturing the blaze in a
war of luminescence when
light against light for it was
provided by you.

The ever-haunting
smile of yours cuts me like the
sharpest of all knives.

Today a little
pale-veil vein was discovered
under your skin right
there, below your right
eye. I am aware that
it was a tough day
and you're so exhausted
too, but I just marveled it,
because I've never
seen it before; it
never revealed itself to
me, yet somehow, in
a strange way it made
me happy for I had no
doubt that you are real.

You are blood from my
blood, word from my word; my own
voicething creature-kin.

You missed the point by
the blind point of view at the
point of no return.

On days like these it
makes sense to lose the common
sense of mine by you.

Losing the right to
occupy space I became
unanchored to this

flesh prison of mine.
Even my words lost in the
wind, but not to you.

Silencing the sound
of voices here, in my head
and beyond let me

exist in your state
of stillness. And let me count
the remaining time

of mine only by
the warmful beating of your
trusted, word clock-heart.

Your steps are taking
away from here just like the
arteries carry

the blood away from
the heart and now on you are
going to be not

miles but lives away
from me; dimensions ahead
hidden in your cloud fortress.

By closing my eyes
to the outer world, you taught
me how to create,

then see myself from
the inside for your lesson
was about giving

the very eyes of
yours. Now let me give my own
heart to you, thus, by

it you will able
to love yourself just as I
love you from the beginning.

Realizing in
that very moment, when your
hair was coloured with

nocturnal darkness
and your eyes revealed the fair,
starlit sky itself,

at last, I happened
to become my true self: a
found one, a gazer of stars.

Love is like the dark
matter: it holds together
the universe, yet

mine was broken and
fallen into myriad
of subatomic

particles like the
ashen, shattered pieces of
a fractured mirror.

I am aware,
my love, that I need to go
on the journey of

mine, without  you. But
tell me, where to start; where to
take the very first

step into a new
life when I am even
incapable of

moving..? Even the
stars faded tonight, the moon
was blinded, the sky

is gone out choking
the love-red sun. Tell me who
am I suppose

to make it on my
own without your dark lightning;
without your black silken light.