Telling my love to the woman,
her hair long, dark, and blonde.
The morning rose earlier,
and in her eyes lay braids,
pearls, and stones.

Her mouth,
rosy-red like a rose
in grandma and grandpa’s forest.
The cheeks on her face
were pink,
as if her hair made her blush,
laugh, and cry.

He presses her into the quiet of her own place, while she lifts him to where his ears ring with love—in stance and space

Why is there only one like me,
born from nothing
but the thought that I may be.

While I,
arisen from no one’s time,
you are what has not yet been named.

Stay away,
and approach: I do not exist yet,
and that… that is becoming.

Shadow is light when it appears reversed
…I breathe therein without form.

Another glint on my nameless existence
so you may not may, but are.

Avoid the noon in the morning,
and look backward, forward.

And so I dwell in non-being,
and you keep disappearing
and that is your mirror,
never repeated.

It feels as if truly
nothing fills me with joy
that my soul reaches for

So I simply long for a little rest,
a silence that understands me

At the same time, the awareness
is growing, you know… I am also
lovingly aware of it, somewhere
I feel the love and the inner peace

Very gently I think that what I long for
might only be found in the silence,
leaving it all feels like violence
of what we all call to be named death

With all my heart I then feel deeply sad

I don’t want to leave behind pain
for tomorrow, no sorrow for my family
or no more grieve towards my friends

An adorable star, you are.
Oh… in my heart, light.
They are the same
as the morning
in my evening night.

A secret to shine
lives in me — elegant,
charming as I am a wonder.
I yell: “I am inevitable!”

You — the one I see in me…
and I in you. For all the way,
always in forever to be:
You and me.

To feel is to be free, the fame,
the game belongs to the day
— and more is on the way.

Eyes in the face, gratitude,
all away. Shall I stay,
now that you are near?

The rear is my fear,
And nothing else…
is you, dear.

A tree becomes paper,
notes in a block… Tick tock.
Hear the clock.

Further away, she goes too.
Yours — the same…

Or is it not?