I wake up
with you on my lips,
but it's only your name
and not your kiss.

I dreamt of you,
and I can’t get back
to our unconscious innocence.
I wish we had not woken.

The crack lets the light in.
Pitiless beams expose my lies,
and reveal your absence.
Regret is making coffee in the kitchen.

what does it feel like to be held
not by another body
not by a set of limbs, a chest, a chin
but
by another soul

what does it feel like
to see truth in another pair of eyes
instead of hidden intentions
instead of absence

what does it feel like
to hear a familiar heartbeat
resounding next to your own
reaching through skin
through bone
two rhythms
indistinguishable

what does it feel like
to write poems about
a love that exists

he said he couldn’t breathe,
so they took his last breath

humans
are so tangible

like paper
we burn
and rip
and if we get wet,
we get soaked

like paper
we come
in colours

but those colours
make paper more beautiful

sticks and stones
will break bones
and a knee will take a life

tear gas and barricades
will need first aids
and rubber bullets will take eyes

signs and chants
dismissed as rants
and a point that will keep being missed