I want to promise you that I'll cover you with petals and take you to the garden of pomegranates and give you honey and keep you warm with my love forever.
But I cannot promise that.
All I can promise is that I will try.

I planted all the seeds of all your pomegranates,
I watered them with my tears,
My love was the sunshine on them.

They grew above me, they reached the clouds,
They grew higher, then reached the stars,
They grew for you, they grew fruit for you.

Now come, harvest our trees.

I wanted to take you to Neverland...
But that's not a country to where you buy your tickets, pack your pants and toothbrush and go.
I tried to lead you there - I left signs for you...
But you never noticed them.
You were not sensitive enough to feel the signs - you wanted to see them.
I tried to teach you how to see with your heart, but I couldn't.
So you bought a ticket to go home.
And I went to Neverland alone.

I just want to sleep on your chest tonight, and sing ancient Hungarian lullabies for you as you slowly close your eyes and disappear behind the curtain of your eyelids, closing yourself into your own world of dreams
- where I can't go with you.
But I promise that I will stay here with your body,
I promise that I will take care of your body,
and I will wait until you come back to me.

Why can't you say you love me?
Because I don't... I love your hair, the way you smile, the things you say, the touch of your skin... But I still don't know where *you are...
But that's all me...
I can't look at you as one thing. You are a soul, you're a body, you're an angel, you're a devil, you're the honey in my porridge, and my bitter medicine that heals me...
Just kiss me then...
You?
*My lips.

So in love.
So confused.
So uncertain.
So abused.
So fragile.
So angry.
So colourless.
So crazy.
So helpless.
So un-free.
So passionate.
So happy.

like a baby snail, scared
I've closed myself in my shell
all day, all night
no dawn, no twilight
I am waiting.
the humble skeleton, my desire is laughing.
noon.
hunger overcomes it,
but the taste of the damp earth,
the salty-sour-sweet spices
are no excitement anymore.
so here we are
on the Collines de Normandie
my pain that cracks open my shell
your absence that feeds my pain
so what we are
in the dying yellow grass
a teardrop and an eye
the blood and the knife
you are flowing away
and I drown in you