Spend this Summer too between your fingers.
corn-gold, combed hair.
Only your stains were left painted on the sand,
where your body once stood like a Cypress.

But another time will come.
When the sea will postpone a crystal spring.
And the sea, the Morning; ice cold, is buried alive under your foot.

          - until Spring comes to bring warmth.

-GZ, 1986

let me be a woman
to you.
let me undress
my skin,

i won't dress myself in oils,
there's nothing here i need to make.
let me be clear to you:


let me show you my crystal,
my honey
how i drip into my skin

let me be your woman to you
let me dance in your waters,
so you can smell the green in me


so you can see that i am made of
soil,
that i am made of magic

where do your layers go?
and all your stories
and the pieces of you
and the parts you play
and all your memories saved
and all the feelings you've felt
and all the moments that made you.

where do your layers go?
and all the songs you wrote
and all the words you placed on paper
and all the letters you sent over seas
and all the conversations you had
and all the love you felt
and all the places you've been and wished to go.

where do your layers go?
when you've lived for your memories
and you've written them all down
And placed them onto paper
And captured it all on film.

but what about the other things.
The everything else you've ever known.
where do they all go?

how can i read them from your mind
Now where can i read you?
how can i run my fingers through them
Or can they placed in glass for us to see
where they can stay, vivid, and alive
to be seen, to be seen, to be seen.

The joints
Your knees
The maple trees.
The dragonfly
The bowls of soup
The bones and back breaking work
The years and years.
The threads.
The barrels. The bowls. The mugs, the chairs.

            You should take away the light, then.

The moon
The music
The morning.
The paints and years of colour.
The darkness of the highway,
The frying and searing
The scorching.
The soft grass—The meadow.
Your hair tucked behind your ear.
The moments we made and only I witnessed.

How do I separate a soul from a body. My lifetime of me. A lifetime of you. Why are you making me.

And I won’t.

I found it tangled in my fingers
like a wet strand of hair. It’s disgusting what you can do to me.

What do I do with it- and why do I chose to keep you.

Why is my only choice to wind you up like you’re twine.
Hoard you like I will be able to use you again for something.

When the time comes.
I’ll make a scarf out of you. Some jewellery. A bracelet.

I’ll wrap and twist and build and build.

Can I make you into a blanket. Can you keep me warm. And safe.

Will I find the end of this thread. What else lies here in my bed. Will there be more of this.

Will it be too much work. Do I have it in me. Can’t I just shelf you for later. I wish I can put the time in. As I have.

But you only have given me this one thread. I’ll have to wait a lifetime for the rest of it. As I have, as I will.

Somehow I’ve decided it’s worth it.

You only like me when I’m sleeping -
Where my body is there but quiet.
Where my words come out of my fingertips and onto the polished skin of your back.
Where I’m just a warm body
Soothing you
Pumping you with a pulse
Stretching your bones;
Your eyelids.
Helping you wax off your dye
Watching as you watch
the bathroom mirror - your reflection brushing its teeth, holding its nose; Piercing its eyes.
I will only take your worry.
One deep breath and
I will let it seep.
And I only scratch the surface, even after this lifetime.
If you can, just let me let me let me.
I’m not done here, come back.
Let me. Let me. Let me.
My words can now hold you. I promise.

I will do anything to grow old with you.

you've lost your soul on me.
your heavy eyes
show no mercy anymore.
where does your evil come from?
seep, seep, seep.

gutted.