The friction between

I am me and you are you --


is love and loveless.

Then you want to run away
let me feel for hours
that I'm very, well
as if you are right

You tear yourself loose, always stronger
always lingering at the door
sometimes I get ahead of you
throw me on your williewo

ride Rodeo on your chest
cuddling and massaging
until you give in
and I can present myself

as a mirror
of who you also are
so that we can escape
our loneliness

A lot has happened,

mistakes have been made, and crates --


have been packed and moved.

No longer bewitched,

yet I still like to see him --


not changed for a bit.

Love does not anchor

in the time of corona –


catching up for years.

To stay, with kisses,

children do it, and parents –


don't always succeed.

People who get married
already know how it works:
not spontaneously a heaven

of love on earth, but
then what? Is heaven too holy
and too high?

Is love cherishing?
solidified into habits
from time to time

a fountain or the sidecar
from which we see the real
holiness: the pool

of change, the heal-whole pool
of nourishing, devouring, and decay?
Are we loving

if we extend the decay
by nourishing each other
devouring little from each other

and letting each other free
to fail and to grow
from within, by oneself?

Lost in the women's section
harmless smiling clumsy
I saw, wanted you

I let you cook for me
and wait after dinner
for a next time, love

is waiting and waiting
is being alive, you were confused
you wanted me

to pamper me, to cook for me
and you had fantasies, patiently
waiting, about a night

with me, love
that will last a lifetime
an adventure of differences

that make our hearts falter
with misunderstandings, but then
they relax again

What are you thinking?

It lies there so between us --


our very first kiss.

-----------------------------------------------------

My lips press the kiss

from back then into a grave –


that is two mouths deep.

-----------------------------------------------------

I bury one kiss

to harvest thousands of them –


they'll all be for you.

My love, why are you still dreaming
of the Madonna I don't want to be?
Why are you standing at the window
with your back to the woman
who wants to take care of you?

Do you see only short circuits
in the depths of the city, car in
car out, while you want a woman
who is above that, averse
to backseat fiddling?

Why do you dream
of escaping? What makes
her nest, my affection a cage?
Why do you dream
of Mona Lisa?

Is there no power there?
Is it only sparking, faintly
somewhere between your belly
and your head? Does it spark
with her too? You hope?