The lights are always on in the villa
with the black awnings and in
the rooms of the rear building
where you never see anyone

The tourists coming here, must be
a cover, it is a quiet hotel
Sometimes someone plays the piano -
a clear tension in the night

The whole situation makes me think
of acts that I know from films
and wish to experience
only that way:

a beautiful man who desires me
with whom I can do everything, veiled
in the middle, surrounded by lust
and pleasure as a second skin

I then thought I knew

what love is, and I said yes --


yes, I do love you.

I certainly would

do anything for love, but --


I just don't do it.

My darling asks why

I don't do what I don't do --


and he's fond of me.

Whatever happens,

blouses do know the secret --


of fitting of in.

I don't know you at home
Old-fashioned, a full case
with books that I also read
There must be some affinity

that I have not noticed
in your body, your breath
and glance, yet would I
like to embrace you

put you close to me
and kiss you, not French
but just
put you close to me

let my hands
stroke your back
and pull up your shirt
in one movement

continue skin to skin
and automatically find the way
no matter where it goes?
Would you do the same?

Control, sympathy,

and longing for a nice time:


the love mystery.

'Love' is a concept

that has become way too big –


to have any use.

I take it easy:

fear and regret are like love –


microbial fuss.

You know me, and yet

you want to be with me, still –


want to stay, don't you?