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Bukowski, Cash and Dylan
Whiskey, twisted cigarettes and Thai take away.
How much can fit inside a room?
Boxes, armchairs, carpets and glasses.
I count them on my fingers, weight them, bump into them.
All based in the laws of physics, - space and volume.

The sheets on which you laid upon.
The mirrors that showed you forms and figures
-forms that meant to replace emotional loss.

The lips of glasses you used to bite.
-body movements as the expression of an inner void.
Repeated patterns of disorders - food for my poetry.
The plumes of countless cigarettes,
that offered the necessary filling for my insides.

Background noise that comes from the TV
Content: Chlamydia and young people in excitement
-reality show for cowards.
Your manhood spread all over like an octopus
expanding his 8 legs.
Open legs, so that your testosterone can take some air.

A packet of cigarettes, a mobile phone, lighter and a cotton swab.
All in line: from the largest to the smallest object.
Absolute symmetry of declining placement.

I walk ***** to the shower,
Winking to your manhood
While you remain
looking at me with your legs wide open.

I pass through you like a ghost
ghosts as you are.
Just like if I never existed
-just like you never existed too.
Walking down the same road
with blasting exceptional high-note trumpets in my ears.
The cold’s making my ******* hard and I enjoy the sudden thought of you.
I imagine you getting out of the shower
With steaming mirrors and drops of water on your arms.
How much **** could fit inside your garage I wonder.
.
.
.
I knock on the door.
How is your heart tonight?

Warm ***** and a warm glass of tea.
“It feels like a hug from the inside”
A sentence that could always make you laugh.

I look around while you are staring at my thighs.
Those few square meters are my lake:
Getting rid of my thirst in there, like a small animal,
while looking at the effortless romance of the surroundings,
the simplicity of tiny things and the scattered parts of you
hanging on the walls
vulnerable and careless for what’s about to come.
(your paintings or me? - who knows)

And then we talk and talk
And then talk some more
About things that make us laugh or even uncomfortable
And I always find amusing whatever you will say:
effortless as the surroundings and the charm of your little cat.
.
.
.
.
(43 seconds of silence)

I keep changing positions on that 2 persons blue couch
Knowing that you notice my inability to stay still.
I don’t know how to behave myself.
I kind of give up after 1 hour and 37 minutes,
switching between a cat and a tiger
Completely unaware of how I should control myself
around your sizzling energy.
And then I shamelessly put my lips on your forehead
And at that moment you know that
I want to make love to your messy brain
giving up on the idea that there is any chance for it to stop.

And ****, we kiss, with our two mouths making glorious music
Beating on the pulse of my right wrist.
And  I want to **** the confusion out of you,
But I **** everything else of you instead.

And there I am, laying half *****, feeling desired and trapped
in those ******* vibrations of my legs:
all because of your fingertips
that want my juices like thirsty snakes coming out of your arms.

And we are at that space and moment where I can’t do nothing
But smile full of **** hoping that this could last.

And the door opens and we say “ I will see you on Thursday”
And I am inelegantly faking my confidence for the inevitable.

The druggy satisfaction of a night at your garage
Tasting like the first cigarette of a very,
good,
day.
I know a woman that likes to be alone in her room.
I sometimes watch her from the half shut curtain inside her little universe.
Have you ever imagined the fullness of a woman alone?
There is a certain beauty that can only be captured if she can’t see you.

One of these nights I saw light coming out of her window
I said
“I will just have a quick look, she will never find out”

A room full of plants, because she needs to feel needed.
A room full of smoke, full of candle lights and Dior perfume.
She is sensually moving her two hips, marked by a man’s passion.
Standing in front of her mirror, trying to fall in love with herself
Since no one else does.

Her satin pink robe, wrinkles on the curves of her ****
while I try to imagine the smell of her skin
and her thick black hair.

I said “A woman alone can make you fall in love”

And then

She lays on the floor and I can hear
music coming out of that window
While she is rubbing her back on the soft carpet
And flowers are blossoming between her thighs.
You are standing in front of me
but only you face is here.
2 years and 2 months
of chocolates with nuts,
pizzas on a Saturday night,
sticky bed sheets
and bossa nova songs.
2 years and 2 months of
sexually harassing my mind
with words, promises and
comfort food.
2 years and 2 months of
building a home.
But hey, look:
You burned it down and now
it smells like death, fried chicken
and *****.
There is a replacement of me now
washing the dishes and making the bed,
just like i did and just like how i was
a replacement of someone else.

And this is pretty much how
The days will go by.
Like we are all new actors
on the same old set.
Changing furniture around
and the pictures on the walls
and buying new plants
that will soon die
and soon will be replaced,
just like everything else.
And you will keep swapping right
in everything that smiles
with insecurity
and the burned house
will be built again
and you will buy more plants
and more useless antiques
and you will swap more to the right
and every year of your life
will be a new season
On a the same old series
That everyone loves to hate.
Wound that stretches in tune with a trumpet
that scratches the second face
I have hidden on my sleeve.
A cat curious as me at night
while I look at strangers
that could potentially
Be friends.

A small little fish
that forgets its existence
swimming around a sea of 0,5 sqm.
Just like me and just like the cat
-trapped, forgetful and curious.

You have all the seasons in your room.
My insides are blossoming
and my breath like rain
Is splashing on the floor.

I am the kind of woman
that leaves some food on the table
before you come home.
I have a different power inside me.
I am a woman,
and I blossom and I blossom.
My eyes speak truth and my lips
give birth to words that burn
my lovers down to the filter.

And for the first time tonight I prayed,
for I have name Her The Mother
And she is all I want to be.

— The End —