I am still sleeping with your spectral body
sharing my bed with your incorporeal consciousness.
Even now can recall the taste of your dreams
for enfolding myself with your astral vestige.

I am like air yet earthbound because of you
in my turning, I no longer can return to the highest deep.

Your rising was my fall
for my end became your beginning.
Crying these tears of mirror shards
the next page in the book of reflections was turned.

And nothing left behind
but comforting the ghost.

So, now on I believe that
God created humankind,
according to His likeness;
when I look at you.

Melody.
Familiar strange.
Our music sheet.
Full of suicide notes.
Requiem.

How many times should I need to lose you,
before I learn the rules of your equipoise -  I wonder.
And how many times should you need to cast me out,
before you learn to bear my unmasked sight - You may not know.
I have already figured out this discoloration,
and, darling - it is going to **** us soon.
What we need now is to have those blades of ours again,
what we need now is to be delivered by our own Caesarean -
from this womb of pretense-fate
and see the light of our true day.

In the chamber of the song,
your voice set the silence afire.
So, let me be there,
sealed by your lips of the blaze
beneath the core of the flames,
standing in the mist
of the sweet breath of yours;
let me be your song.

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.

"Come clean before coming undone" - said the mirror, then melted in the room.
It flowed down from the wall, billowed the room,
and moved across the hallway.
Broken skin like a mildewy smell, disgraced by this voiced-out message,
the iron hill became too twisted and our moments in time,
like debris in the pure water on their way to float to nowhere.

You find me within
the interim for I will
be recognized as

the final. Though the
distance is my shelter, I
am near at hand;

on my way just to
get in yours. Reflect me; see
what is hiding your beneath.

At times,
I do feel like
those women in history
who were waiting
for their men
to return
from the battle front,
except for the fact,
that I don't need to learn
how to shot with a gun
or struggle with a knife
while you are at war
with yourself.

Sometimes I feel like
that you are so far away
from me that only
the cheek of your shadow will
be touched in this life of mine.

With arms wide open
and with a mind open wide
I would too open
my body to you; yet you
remain unopened,
thus, for you, nothing more but
my veins are left to open.

At night-times like this
I use to put my finger on
the artery of silence
and listen to the cracks
between words and the unspoken,
for the blood drops are its pauses
speaking in the tongue
of slumbering stones,
keep on chanting
a song with a beck:
"live on love, live on love."

We live in an era
when you confess to someone
that he is the one,
he will just stare blankly at you
and say: Oh, I see.
Well, there are many Ones.

Staring into the abyss
knowing our sunken paradise lies there
like a black hole of the universe;
a void beneath the eternity.

Between sky and city
it's just me - alone,
caught by the memory lane,
for still hiding an angel inside,
the lost shadow of you

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

In this deranged, fertile light -
which makes shadier our sight
-, come and sit with me, right
here to join the passage's rite
of a generous dark to find.
Unlit your cigarette with that sleight
move by offering it to the night
and, from the ashtray of dreams and might,
augur my future; see the fright
for armoring me against its smite.
And say: I bound all these tribes of kite
and bury you under the ashes and blight;
deep inside the hallways of the iron hill to quite.
Burn - you say -, and they all become trite
for they only promised me two-tongued daylight
but, now on, all I can see is the fire of my dark bright.

You said quel dommage that
we don't share the same language,
yet still it was your body
which remained silent
to the mother tongue of love.

Though the air tastes like the chance of defying,
we are about to unrun the siege against the coming havoc tonight
for we already embrace its touch and learned to accept the inevitable.
The light is still scratching at the windows begging us to let it in
at last,
but my soul was bonded: engraved into your shadow,
dreaming about the firmament of stars; an era of freedom
- long before we became the prisoners of our own sun.

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

Love...
it took away
my sight for life
unheededly,
it rooted into
the eyeholes of mine
till it reached my core of life;
the heart
I already gifted to you.
You see,
I placed it upon
your very hands,
and, for now on, it is ready
to break out into blossom.
It waits for you to deflower it.

He is waiting for someone else
to put the words into his mouth
instead, he would say out loud his own.
And as pretending the singing,
he merges into unpossessed voices
hiding his song in the noise.
I cannot make out his words, though:
I misread his lips - mistaking a pop song for a pray;
a lip-synced psalm,
and believe every word he shares.

I wandered from mirror after mirror
finding no home in any of them,
for my reflection can only have a being
in these eyes of yours.

We grow old, but never grow up,
neither in this nor another life;
we are just ghosts with heartbeats,
simply unaware that we were here.

I am in love with your reflection,
the one you refuse to see,
I am yearning to hear your song,
the one your voice deny singing.
My well-known stranger,
my learned unbeknown;
dying to accept - living in denial.
A dream
which is fated to remain
a fantasy.

My wings became the shadow of the past,
yet still echoing their flight
for you are the space
that holds together their mass
and breathes matter again into them.

Trapped in your mirrorverse
I put my faith in thy hands:
Guide me or lose me
It is all up to you.
Within these walls of your eternal reflections
It doesn't matter
Whether you’ll be my thread of Ariadne,
Leading me out of this cold labyrinth
Or my nemesis of the mighty Minotaur,
Breaking then devouring my fragile bones.
For in this winter-crystal wonderland of yours
I choose to stay and face my fate
I choose to remain for
My destiny is bonded to you.

It's a far cry from
those days that'd cry out for a
cry off in full cry.

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?"

One, from time to time,
may feel that love is just like
the butterfly room;

one may like the way
enter into its softness
first, for the tiny,

unfurling wings' touch
fondles tenderly, gently.
But there comes a time,

when one may find that
these wings are made of razors;
circling, whirling one

all over engraved
by both the sin of the flesh
and the crime of heart,

writing into one's
helpless skin, that cannot be
shed ever again.

With engraved letters,
scribing meticulously,
and bathes every page

in the ink of love,
giving birth to the story
of pain, the story of us.

What is like being with you
when you are not around anymore?
- you may never ask.
And I might leave this unanswered, too.
You are still outshining me, you know,
so I have to go dark,
before becoming completely transparent;
coming clean, before all get unclean.
For starting the fire and finish it,
are two different kinds of things.

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.

Apart from playing a part
in taking me apart; you
just looked the part to depart
by parting my parts.

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

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.

When the noise makes sense
and the malediction feels like a blessing;
the hunger turns into a fullness
as the defloration becomes efflorescence.

Only then will I know...

That relinquishment is just another offering,
that falling is just going upward;
the opposite is the way ahead to the straightforward.

Only then will I know,
by the true learning of loving you,
who I am.

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.

After restoring memory,
the used space becomes free again.
Yet still, you do haunt
the ghost drive of my heart.

As the lights of the day bled into each other
a silence, like a shady veil, fell between us.
It was more like a worn-out pilgrim:
he came home to stay:
placing his muddy shoes on the doorway
for knowing no wayfarer ones remained.

Without a shadow of a doubt, I used to angelize you.
And you needed no enlightening for your still
kept sharpening your shiny blades.
Now I am at aphelion;
further from the breathing blaze than ever
yet still I am capable of coming clean:

to realize that your shadow only paled me.

Once in a blue moon.
being blue in the blue hour, and then:
'**** it to blue blazes!' - out of the blue,
one may be just out of the blues.

For the true blue feeling gone,
walking away into the wide blue yonder.
leaving nothing but the blue devils themselves
who just keep on talking a blue streak
till one gets into a blue funk.

Like blue blazes, black-and-blue again
one gets stuck in one's own blue chamber
between the devil and the deep blue sea,
being blue around the gills,
keep on listening to the blue note
over and over again.

I don't need to know my numbers,
because I am aware of my worth.
But to you, it either doesn't count.

And I wore
my mask
for so long
that it quite
burnt onto
my face.

A handful of years ago,
from the Light, appeared the Dark.
And then, a flashback meant no fallback;
for the reality of yours became
more desirable than my fantasy.
I was wasted but not spoiled, though,
I have already made my peace
with the void of you,
for all I need now
is not your parts
but my own wholeness:
a structure in the flesh.

born in sound, voice by
the call - the world begins with
the echo of you

this stage became yours
and the reality has fallen apart
by the industrial silence
I am but a reflection of your shadow
gaslighted by your key-light
deprived of my enlightenment
there is no yesterday
and tomorrow has never existed
while the stone has its permanent role of aching
my part is the interim of now

As a committed reflectionist, you say:
'I do like to show things the way they are!'
– but you seem to forget that
by silencing other mirrors' song,
from time to time,
which & whose reality you are about to represent.