I still eat toasted white bread
with thinsliced strawberries
and small sugar hills:
Could be noisy Rotterdam.
I still mix up urban blues
and chagrin d’amour
and call it open relationship:
Could be the ugly part of Paris.
Sometimes I juggle with lemons
next to a Czech red fridge
having a flower square in mind:
Could be a ******** poetry-slam
in Berlin.
And I still wear t-shirts with
vintage anthrazit windmills:
Could be either Don Quichote
or Don Juan trying to rewrite
their script.
Jul 27, 2018
Jul 27, 2018 at 2:15 PM UTC
I still eat toasted white bread
with thinsliced strawberries
and small sugar hills:
Could be noisy Rotterdam.
I still mix up urban blues
and chagrin d’amour
and call it open relationship:
Could be the ugly part of Paris.
Sometimes I juggle with lemons
next to a Czech red fridge
having a flower square in mind:
Could be a ******** poetry-slam
in Berlin.
And I still wear t-shirts with
vintage anthrazit windmills:
Could be either Don Quichote
or Don Juan trying to rewrite
their script.
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