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.

You said at once that
this kind of love poetry
does not resonate
with you yet still, you see, from
a distance, I keep
imaging to kiss upon
your weary eyelids
again, for a moment, it
gives me back my loss:
my sea of tranquility,
my moonbeam of inner peace.

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.”

You said, that I have a heart of gold.
I just smiled because I know that
since the dawn of our time
you have broken it so many times;
shattered it into oodles of pieces
which I tried to repair - time after time,
then it could no longer resemble its true self.
It became something different,
some kind of kintsugi artifact,
something golden, yet something hard:
completely useless for its predestination.

On the sky's hummock
she is like a ziggurat;
a gardener of

stars who takes care of
their shining watching over
their sparkling glimpses.

My only hope that
maybe she intend to look
after our little

and unfortunate
star too. The dim one under
whom our love was born to beam.

Once my birth was simple:
you made me up unwillingly;
I leaped from your forehead like
Athena did from Zeus'.
You were more than just a father-figure
and back in those days
you found joy in my design.
From a glance of you
I learned the light,
from another the darkness itself.
I craved to know more
but somehow you lost the will teach me;
to finish my making real.
And now
in the embrace of
your torturing abandonment
I became my own midwife:
to learn my own creation,
to be my own design.

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.

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.

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 know that is easier for you
to read my astrology
and zodiac forecast every week
just to figure out
how's it going with me
than picking up the phone
and calling me.

Strolling around in
our dear Old Paradise Street
I nearly swooned, my
love, yet, though, rose up into
your deep blue empyrean.

As I walked this earth to find you
I also found myself.
On my way to you, I understood that
this path is so long, though,
it could never unflame my heart
for my steps, toward you,
were never bootless;
beneath the act of loving you
I also learned to love myself.
Beyond the search of you, yet I never sought,
I also learned the now of my present
for in you, I am bondless
yet boundless at the time.

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

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

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.

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.

Rumor has it one takes pictures of stuff
that one is afraid of losing.

The girl who captures moments with her camera
seeking the company of entangled dwellings
beneath the womb of nightfall
for the city is silent
in this witching hour of her heart;
her misbegotten heart which,
with - step by step - every beating
also grabs, in her own way, fragments of reality.

So, she wanders through the whisper-lighted streets
by taking pictures and immortalizing shapes,
searching for a dead-end for finding a living door,
a door, which she may be able to preserve,
to his sorrow-sealed soul.

My heart is about
to leave, ready to ascend
then hover away

on the dusked wings of
her before my woe-hardened
rib cage could shatter

her. An exodus
of the chosen ****** is her
new purpose to find

peace in the embrace,
the horizon's snowy clouds.
I would go after

her, but I'm rooted
here; this mandrake soil does not
let me depart, so

I let her set sail
and ask to be the very
sight of me; just to

watch over you while
you're about to blaze the new
path... From here, her bird's-eye view.

The heart is but a
yawning wound, needs to be burned
out. See? There you go...

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

Traveling by the
speed of light just to bend time
and space I came to

cross over unknown
galaxies for reaching your fond
hex-black singularity.

Did you know that the night hides itself into your
hair? See, that's why it is so dark.
       Your shimmer, love, swallowed me
and I am melting on your tongue of time.
You are likewise the womb and the tomb of mine;
what else the difference but a letter.
Pour your sun inside me and let me rest in your blaze.
Place your moon upon my very heart and see how
I become one with your nightshade.
      My fate is a delicate line
                in the corner of the eyes of yours.
You water and make it bloom with the tears of joy,
drawing the constellation of stars on your very face.
       You are all fair, my love; there is no spot in you.

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

My neon-hearted one,
vibrating throbs shining through
the soul-soaked night. It

is an endless ride
on this forlorn, pebble-skinned
autobahn; I still

can feel you out there.
Your heartstrings are like distant,
radio waves; such

beautiful white noise
attached to the senses of
mine anchoring me

into a godspeed
velocity just to safe
and sound; here and now reach you.

Like splitting the atom I
split myself until nothing
remains but the idea
of me in your head.

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.

I wonder where to wander,
alone I am a loner;
once your mate-rover
but now just a harmless pushover
for my path is over
by turning a cold shoulder
to me, you alter into a voiceover
of my kismet, a veiled exposure.

Your memory is
like an expired polaroid
film - I still keep it

as though it would be
the most precious treasure of
mine, yet I am

aware of the truth:
till I walk this earth I will
never take a look at it.

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.

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.

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.

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

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

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.

I am waiting for you to show up
like the azure ribbons of northern lights
in the end of the velveteen-blue horizon.
I can almost hear your steps
if I hold back my breath
and silence my heart.
Your steps having a caressing sound
of touching the dusty ground.
Your body is the living night -
upon your shoulders, you hold slumbering stars
for the moon is your radiating heart.
I am waiting for you to show up,
I am waiting for the rising
of my midnight sun.

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

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.

I wanted to be your part
so desperately
that I almost lost
my wholeness.

This heart of stone hides
a dream of a god whose voice
once was lost against

the terrific wind.
It became mutilated
then swallowed by the

cacophony of
silence. So, answerless he
slumbers now, yet still

ajar for long to
speak with a mortal one who
would dare to call thy true name.

“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.”

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.

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.

As you became out
of control, out of touch,
out of sight, out of

your own depth at last
I learned that altering
for hinky pathways

will impede me from
knowing a higher self; a
journey toward the within.

I am looking for a blueprint for love
the one I've once felt about you.
The perfect blue paper
that helps me figure things out
that tells secrets about a lover's skin and sighs
- the ones I knew as yours.
Now I wish to redraw, then admire its design:
relearn, then follow its patterns
down to my very heart.
I want to rebuild its structure,
recreate the way that is no more,
to have the perfect edition of it;
a guide to my true self,
the one who once knew what it felt like
to be in love with someone like you.

Through the sea of flames
I pursue to fulfill this
shadow quest of mine,

governing my ark
recklessly against the winds
of mauling doubts, toward you.

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

I was blinded by the sky today
it stared at me,
without a blink,
so I did the same,
just to avoid missing
the very moment,
when it would speak about you.
But it fooled me:
it took away my sight
ousted the breath of my soul
far, far away
and uncoupled me
from the hope of the living.
But I still remained,
stayed to listen to the wind,
asked the sun to swallow me
and prayed for you
to recognize me this way.

This game was on
right before we met.
This game was on
right before we were even born.

No one has ever said that
playing by the devil's bible is easy
and, to tell the truth,
I have never fancied gambling.

But this time I was called to act
by the summoning, and though
the price was never so high
like this before
I take the offer on losing everything
I have ever had.

Because sitting at this table
right here in front of you,
streamed by Acorns, Bells, and Leaves,
threatened Over-n-Under by the Knave,
I must defeat you by my own Heart
before the King itself slaughters me
by the hand of the Deuce.

With you, I gladly
dance the sleepwalkers' waltz, yet
still, while on my way

to descend, picking
up the thread by following
Ariadne's line,

like vigilant ones,
I would rather desire to
be on the watch by your side.

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

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.