Did she emerge from the
foam of the crystal ocean
baring skin of apricots and lust?
enveloped in peach silk waves from her
breast unto her hip?
gracing wafts of wrist to
tunes of siren’s harps on the mountains?
picking eyes of men like berries from bushes?

No.

The maiden did not stall the stage
to occupy the audience.

She did form herself out of the
wreck she had lived in.
the hardest of smiles carried in her eyes
to reassure her mind.
danced amongst flowers of healing that
whispered the secrets of being.
planted fresh air and blankets to
all that she loved for.

If she is hungry

Then we'll let her starve

For longing

Is a beautiful expression

On the face of a pretty, young girl.


If she is cold

We'll wrap her in white

Over her paper-doll arms

Dancing-girl legs

Porcelain-baby face.


We'll spare her from mummification

By peeling away those first layers

Just to reveal more white, adorned underneath

Pure as ****** snow.


We'll never speak

Of those dark shadows

Over smooth, breakable skin, so fair

For we shall make a gentleman wonder

If she wears proudly her shadows

If she has on her pantyhose.


If she becomes yours

We'll show everyone

If only for a moment

Just what a prize you have won.

Such a lovely, hungry, pure, feminine face

Beneath that age-old veil.


But don't you worry, son!

As soon as you taste those wanting, red lips

You can lower that veil as you wish

Decide the form she shall take

As one who is yours

To feed, clothe, flaunt, hide

However you please.


But until then...


If she is hungry

We'll let her starve

Just to make her wait.

Bukowski, Cash and Dylan
Whiskey, twisted cigarettes and Thai take away.
How much can fit inside a room?
Boxes, armchairs, carpets and glasses.
I count them on my fingers, weight them, bump into them.
All based in the laws of physics, - space and volume.

The sheets on which you laid upon.
The mirrors that showed you forms and figures
-forms that meant to replace emotional loss.

The lips of glasses you used to bite.
-body movements as the expression of an inner void.
Repeated patterns of disorders - food for my poetry.
The plumes of countless cigarettes,
that offered the necessary filling for my insides.

Background noise that comes from the TV
Content: Chlamydia and young people in excitement
-reality show for cowards.
Your manhood spread all over like an octopus
expanding his 8 legs.
Open legs, so that your testosterone can take some air.

A packet of cigarettes, a mobile phone, lighter and a cotton swab.
All in line: from the largest to the smallest object.
Absolute symmetry of declining placement.

I walk naked to the shower,
Winking to your manhood
While you remain
looking at me with your legs wide open.

I pass through you like a ghost
ghosts as you are.
Just like if I never existed
-just like you never existed too.

I know a woman that likes to be alone in her room.
I sometimes watch her from the half shut curtain inside her little universe.
Have you ever imagined the fullness of a woman alone?
There is a certain beauty that can only be captured if she can’t see you.

One of these nights I saw light coming out of her window
I said
“I will just have a quick look, she will never find out”

A room full of plants, because she needs to feel needed.
A room full of smoke, full of candle lights and Dior perfume.
She is sensually moving her two hips, marked by a man’s passion.
Standing in front of her mirror, trying to fall in love with herself
Since no one else does.

Her satin pink robe, wrinkles on the curves of her ****
while I try to imagine the smell of her skin
and her thick black hair.

I said “A woman alone can make you fall in love”

And then

She lays on the floor and I can hear
music coming out of that window
While she is rubbing her back on the soft carpet
And flowers are blossoming between her thighs.

You are standing in front of me
but only you face is here.
2 years and 2 months
of chocolates with nuts,
pizzas on a Saturday night,
sticky bed sheets
and bossa nova songs.
2 years and 2 months of
sexually harassing my mind
with words, promises and
comfort food.
2 years and 2 months of
building a home.
But hey, look:
You burned it down and now
it smells like death, fried chicken
and *****.
There is a replacement of me now
washing the dishes and making the bed,
just like i did and just like how i was
a replacement of someone else.

And this is pretty much how
The days will go by.
Like we are all new actors
on the same old set.
Changing furniture around
and the pictures on the walls
and buying new plants
that will soon die
and soon will be replaced,
just like everything else.
And you will keep swapping right
in everything that smiles
with insecurity
and the burned house
will be built again
and you will buy more plants
and more useless antiques
and you will swap more to the right
and every year of your life
will be a new season
On a the same old series
That everyone loves to hate.

Wound that stretches in tune with a trumpet
that scratches the second face
I have hidden on my sleeve.
A cat curious as me at night
while I look at strangers
that could potentially
Be friends.

A small little fish
that forgets its existence
swimming around a sea of 0,5 sqm.
Just like me and just like the cat
-trapped, forgetful and curious.

You have all the seasons in your room.
My insides are blossoming
and my breath like rain
Is splashing on the floor.

I am the kind of woman
that leaves some food on the table
before you come home.
I have a different power inside me.
I am a woman,
and I blossom and I blossom.
My eyes speak truth and my lips
give birth to words that burn
my lovers down to the filter.

And for the first time tonight I prayed,
for I have name Her The Mother
And she is all I want to be.

Is it with
the strength
of my own two hands
that I crush
the bountiful
flowering petals
waiting
in the outstretched palms
of the women
who I love?
Does my towering
ambition
silently decay
their humanity—
their desire to reach
for anything beyond
my hips?
Tell me—
is there a way
to unclench
my fists
from around your lungs?
A way for my riotous
echo to be silenced?
Even if a cure
existed
for this malady
I’m not sure
that I would ever
stick around to see it.

There is power in knowing that I can disappear as quickly as I came
That I don’t need you need you  
There is power in holding interest cause I can lose it as fast as I found you
Being a magical woman means I can vanish before your eyes at the first sight of wavering
My body miraculous there is power in my smile