My pomegranate-tree was in blossom.
It was covered in orange-red blooms, each of which was hiding a secret inside, waiting for the bees.
But the bees never came.
The promise of growing fruit fell on the hard dry ground with the orange-red petals and broke into pieces.
The promise of love evaporated with the morning dew of 13th July and disappeared. Left.
My beautiful tree was abandoned.
It stood there bloomless, fruitless, hopeless.
It used to be the queen of the garden, but now it's crying.
And it is looking forward to next spring.
Maybe then...

I'm no creep. I'm no *****. I'm no ****.
You make me believe in something I don't want.
I'm hiding my face, although you're blind.
Why do we **** it up every single time?
People just pass through me and leave for ever.
You just pass through people and leave for ever.
You're no better than I am, but no worse either.

Leave me then.
But I will keep her.

We have both created her,
You and me
We have both given our blood,
You and me
She is made of
You and me

And I could never **** any part of you
As I have always loved you
And I will always love you
And you will always love me

- the part of you in her.

I know I have a place in your arms

I hope I have a place in your heart

I wish I had a place in your future

Slowly slip into me. Stay.

Feel my heart beating and pumping blood and life everywhere.
It is your heart now too.

Feel my skin heating and protecting life in me.
It is your skin now too.

Feel my hair tickling and hiding the sparkles of life in the eyes.
It is your hair now too.

Feel my ***** moving and ******* life through the nose.
It is your ***** now too.

Feel my life shining.
It is your life now too.

Stay.

drop.
the morphine finally reaches her weak body through the long tube
drop.
the morphine enters the vein and sets off for a journey in her aching body
drop.
the morphine spreads and rushes with her pale blood to the remotest parts
drop.

from the tips of her toes, the relief wipes her body and her soul
she drops my hand and she closes her eyes
she doesn't need me, she doesn't need her heart
her brain is just an *****, hiding there in the skull

what she needs now is her spirit, that is percolating through the white plastic hospital-matress
it is flowing away as a river, escaping from the pain
she turns inside-out, she sinks in herself
in colours, in pleasures, in eternity, in unexplored daffodil-fields, in heavens and hells

the dripping stops, I can see it
the morphine has evaporated, she can feel it
her spirit crawls back into her damaged body
connects the brain to the heart, gets the system ready

back to reality with open eyelids
welcome back again pain, at least you were killed for a while
but the core of the disease is still in her belly
she needs more morphine, more dreams, more of eternity

drop.

Sixty more days until being entirely yours again.
Sixty more nights without you.
Sixty more sighs in the morning rain.
Sixty more seconds and the minute is through.

Midnight.

Only fifty-nine more days to go.