So, I just sit here,
waiting for you to defeat
the oblivion

and again, at last,
remember where you left me  
like a forgotten

toy from your childhood,
and like every toy I too
need magic to come

alive again; that
kind of magic from the sweet
little human of

mine, the one who, at
once, placed an incandescent
piece from his soul into me.

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.

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.

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.”

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

Blind date with a blind map,
oh Lord, where are my fingers running?
Are they again seeking out your heart?
For your body remains invisible
on uncharted lands
as your absence taking shape.
Godspeed with the Hand of Fate,
while mapping on the surface of this paper
for guiding me safe waters,
watching out the tides
while leaving nowhere
I reach you ashore,
"Geborgenheit" is the word;
safe & sound.

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.

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

Secret.
Lips sealed.
Necking stirringly - hush.
Shadow of a doubt.
Decoy.

“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.”

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

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

I am like those SETI-scientists,
clinging on radiowaves;
noise-melodies from outer space,
questing after truth with huge telescopes
and scanning the visible light with satellites,
seeking desperately the limits of worlds apart,
searching for signs of intelligent life
in the desired-to-know universe.
Just to communicate with the extra-terrestrial;
to achieve certainty: there is someone out there,
someone, who is different, yet alike,
who is able to speak my thoughts
without knowing my language,
who still can easily translate my feelings
into the secret programcode of the universe.
An astral-traveler,
who can tame the waves of gravity,
someone, who is faster than the speed of light
and could eat the distance between us.
To be my interstellar compass;
my one and true guidance,
to help me explore this unfathomed life.
Someone, as David Bowie sang at once,
who is able to believe the strangest things,
who is able to love the alien.

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

It's happened on your last watch.
In a lonesome salvage yard,
she - who was raised by machines - like
an electric shadow on a hopeless, desolate street in Berlin,
was risen by
the taste of your swallowed tears as bitter as gall,
the music of your careless heartbeats singing
its own song of rust,
exhaling radiowaves for picture and thus
bring you into life again
by reshaping the man - from the sounds of wind chimes
and piano accords - who you were
more than half a life ago.

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.

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.

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.

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.

Imprison the blaze
for unlearning
the ghost of our light
to bow down before
an interim simulacrum
of the sham.

You said,
that the colours are so hurting;
that this soundless shapelessness
comforts you.

I cannot extricate you.
Cannot unleash
from the unbreachable
for I learned that
this stasis is your only home.

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.

Sum this all up: mind
zeroing in on that you
can't be zeroed out.

take a train
seek a station
sense the location
nevermind the destination

thus the landscape is just a mindscape;
a vastness of space, a great unknown
we built for each other,
a wall of falling - a distance of stasis.

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.

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.

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

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

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.

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.

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.

Passing through the jade
green understory of yours,
discovering your

forest-like body;
betwixt and between at last
I found my abditory.

"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.

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.

Once more
Came to see the light of the night
then just to
melt in the shadow of the dayshine.
The summer moves on
and so do you
leaving behind nothing
but the event horizon.
No light can escape from here
remaining captured,
like a caged skylark,
being lingering frozen
like the vacuity of space;

incarcerated by the radiation of dying stars
out of the lightning source of my true glare.

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.

Kissing your cheek
time after time
then at once, you asked:
"What are you doing?"
"Counting my blessings," I said
"I was never good with numbers, though,
so I start it all over and over again
and imagine Sisyphus happy."

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

loss of appetite
this wine in my mouth tastes salty
a grape of your tears

Under the vault of snow-white
heaven, beneath the charm of
midwinter I picture the
home of mine in you.

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.