The people from your hometown and I
got something big in common;
we always wait for you.
And your words.
They complete and make our days.
If not all, then most days.
We await news from you
like a rooster would wait for sunshine
before it sings in the morning.
Like I would wait for you
to tell me you adore me before I can sleep,
and wake and repeat this all over again.

On my own,
I would probably *****
and gallop around
like an untrained horse,
just doing whatever I please.
But with himㅡmy master, my rider,
I became a tamed, seasoned
and trained champion.
When he's on top of me,
he trots with glee,
when we jump
and into the air we flee;
I feel like I would be sold
with a worth far more than
a brand new Ferrari.
On my own, I am but a restless beast;
But when we canter together,
we grace the lands
and weather the storm,
we ride with such majesty
and with much ease and joy.

I have been walking in a dark cave
for quite a long time,
Never felt more caged and jailed,
as if I've committed a heinous crime.
Defeated and bruised
from the gold rush,
I heard songs of victory
in your calm and hush.
Little did I know,
I was just passing through,
forgetting all the woes and blues,
I walk towards my gold mine,
Threw all of my lights on the line,
Left my knives by the door, risking my life.
And little did you know,
you wouldn't just walk with me
through the dark,
but would even dance with me
right on my mark.
When I felt like I was
in an eternal night,
you came marching along,
my valiant knight.
Now we walk hand-in-hand,
I can see the light from our land.
Waiting for us there is our *** of gold.
I have all the riches in the world
from your kisses and by your hold.

I didn't even ask him
what kind of music he digs,
for his voice alone
is my new favorite record.
I didn't bother finding out
his kind of taste in music,
for my newfound orchestra
comes from his lips.

I didn't even ask him
what kind of films he watch,
for even reality feels like a movie
when he came from the side door,
that's a film I've never seen before.
The ****** is when I was falling
and he was there, ever ready,
waiting and willing to catch me.

I didn't even find out
what kind of books he reads,
for his way with words
is already a novel of poetry.
I didn't even dare ask him
what he thinks of the bible,
for his articles and greetings
alone are my homily.

I didn't even find out
if our taste in music, cinema and literature matches and if I should go otherwise.
You only do that in shallow,
short-lived connections.
I didn't even bother finding out
if our taste in things aligns,
for he already spiced up my
underseasoned life.

They said you cannot pour
from an empty cup,
yet you fill me up, overflowing with feelings,
feelings that I have yet to feel,
let alone even believe.

They said you cannot pour
from an empty cup,
yet I find myself being able to give you more,
right when I thought
I could no longer give.

They said you cannot pour
from an empty cup,
so we throw away our old fragile mugs,
take out the fine, gold-rimmed glasses
and we began to clink.

They said you cannot pour
from an empty cup,
so we took out a bottle,
carefully tasting by drips,
and into the night we drink.

They said you cannot pour
from an empty cup,
So we threw a feast,
with only us two as guests,
until it's the dawn
and even then we still celebrate.

They said you cannot pour
from an empty cup,
yet we clink, drink and celebrate together,
finish one bottle after the other
because you know we have
a fair surplus of wine
down in our cellar

A line from a favorite movie of mine goes;
"Marriage isn't romantic,
that's why God invented poetry."
And I could not get it out of my mind.
So much that it kept me up for two nights.
That what if I am to become a wife,
life would be a never ending strife?
What if I can only sit still with a book,
but as soon as I am someone's woman,
I am a runaway and a crook?
What if I can only well rhyme my poems,
but affection for my husband
is something I would always owe him?
What if I am only clever with my riddles,
but fall short with my duties as a maiden?
What if I am only a good artist,
but bad in marriage?
What if I am ideal in theory,
but repulsive in practice?
What if I am a better lover,
but only in my letters?
What if only in fantasy am I a good writer,
but in reality as a foe am I better?