there was a girl at friedrichstrasse station
she waved
through the barrier
with dainty hands and gentle eyes of kindness
and i smiled at her carefully making sure
nobody noticed my face
the gleam in her eyes doe-like and sweet like she cared
even though she didn’t know me even though
she was supposed to hate me
even though it’s been hours days weeks months

years i still think of her
those shining eyes that smile that changed me
the westerner that i should not have looked at
wanted craved
for so long even while my friends kissed
boys at midnight under the stellar stars
in alexanderplatz
my mind still returned to her loyal
the way a dog returns to its master
forever thinking of the girl at friedrichstrasse station

Tepid damp and lukewarm night,
Build your camp by rivers bright;
Sable black and and somber grey,
Silt the river's arms away.

Island tenements rent for cheap,
Bakèd bricks in plinths lie deep;
Stores of merchants and their wives,
Sheltered from the thund'rous tides.

Glance on that maternal shrine,
Softly angled toward the Rhine;
See the men with flowing beards,
Seldom entertaining fears.

Moon illumes a stony pose,
Sun sustains a garden rose;
Temple pillars bathed in or,
Leave mute shadows on the floor.

Olifant horns begin to sound,
Tribesmen fall upon the town;
Riding with the northern gust,
Trampling the homes to dust.

Yet, as gateside rocks abound,
From the ashes, rises now,
Where that city met disgrace,
A mighty fortress in its place.

I remeber long nights
With your plaid button downs
Always with the first button undone
And your white T-Shirt underneath always brightend the hazel in your eyes

Memories of Germany danced on your lips
How I wanted to taste them...
The longing still holds on the end of my tongue

Car rides were always needed
But I never minded sharing them with you
Conversations of endless nothings and you didn't know I was falling hoplessly in love with you.

You may not have had the blue eyes I dreamed of as a little girl
But they looked to me like how I looked at shooting stars
The dead of night always ran through your hair as my mind ran circles around itself chasing those cosmic wonders

And there may not be a sequence to this poem
But thats how you made me feel
Out of order
Maybe a little out of place
But when I looked to you, you knew of all the wishes I spent on those shooting stars

the corner shop near the railway station
opens now unlike when we came here first
when everything would shut on Sunday

the flea market in Mauerpark
is over-ridden with people selling kitsch
but we always go and we love it

everyone is so cool here that I think being cool
isn't hip anymore,
the street is a sea of hipsters in black

it's early Spring and there is still
no ferries on the Spree
but if you walk down the right street

you'll catch a couple of musicians
maybe a juggling act  
that blend in with graffiti and art

in the evening we'll go to the TV Tower
like tourists
pretend we can afford dinner in the revolving restaurant

two hundred and three metres high
and look over the cars on the road to Berlin-Mitte
that look like graceful glowing bugs below

we'll get have a cocktail with dinner in Caramba
in the square (just one)
and listen to light German jazz

with no need to worry
if the transport still runs at night