True Friends
A long time ago in China there were two friends, one who played the harp skilfully and one who listen skillfully.
When the one played or sang about a mountain, the other would say: "I can see the mountain before us."
When the one played about water, the listener would exclaim: "Here is the running stream!"
But the listener fell sick and died. The first friend cut the strings of his harp and never played again. Since that time the cutting of harp strings has always been a sign of intimate friendship.

                                                               ­                                  From „ Zen flesh, Zen bones“*


the gallery of your luscious qualities
do indeed killing me
there is no one scolding you
like they doing on me
for such nonsenseal guilt, that
i sometimes  use imaginary
but alas it happens far seldom
usually i am indeed just infinitely
diminutiv towards your very boldship
the severe prose of life dont
let write astute  fantasies
yet my punk *** is vernacular towards
your upperclassed way to speak
its like dog's bark near
your charming chant of melodies
to be befriended with you
yet listen your compliments
I am getting perplexed
cuz i see you stiff giggling on me
you would better doubt me for my narrow horizon
where i type only about hopelessely of resistance
yet about that love is dead
how bore!!
it trully not what may enterntain!

Better I would dont coment and dont write anymore
Better I would skimp this beggarly text
instead only  picking nose behind of barricade
and let you hear nix beside my
Perro Semihundido's
WOOF!WOOF!WOOF!

….but, I wrote this lolololong locomotive,
since its obviously my pretty fun to ******* myself
bye

I want every spec of his gathered stardust
His hands around my waist
I want every inch of the constellations scattered accross his back
Tracing my fingers along each freckle of his to the next
I found the map that guides me home
Each time I'm lost
Hopelessely I was always waiting for someone to help me make the stars align
He did not accept that I was dead as all my blood turned into wine
He is the last star I needed to find in order to connect the dots amongst my own galaxy
It all made sense now
Each page I bled my poetry of pain from the past
All the half loves, shades of grey, fragments of my heart shattered on the floor and rose tinted glass
All of my ghosts, all of the lies, why my stardust never truly collided with anyone else
Each night I spent begging the moon to send me him, all of the lonely nights spent alone in my favourite room, why everything I didn't want revealed the truth
All of my words I wished one day would be appreciated, restless nights kept awake praying that someone like him existed
It was within my chaos I learned I desired a soul like his, he was the calming sound of the rain
Pitter-pattering of trickles down my spine
Wherever his fingertips brush against me
Meeting him was coming home after a long, long, search for a blue moon
Only his love is once in a lifetime, surreal and safe to succumb to.