he is the sun.
with his bright red hair and his warm hands
freckles all over
he shines
gives warmth and light to people

I am the moon.
a bit cold and a bit sad
with pale white
kinda dusty skin
with scars like craters


the moon can't shine without the sun
but still it is not less important.

sun gives warmth, casts shadows
moon controls the tides,
sees things in a different light

we are the sun and the moon.
like all people are.

crowd of tiny black birds
one of them prettier than the rest
feathers shimmering golden
but when his brothers and sisters fly
it remains below
because you can't fly with wings made of gold

raven picking out
eye and brain of dead pigeon
what an eerie sight

his lips could destroy worlds
I told him.
and he smiled that smile.

oh how welcome is  
warm water slowly dripping
embracing the icyness of my body
with it's vast whiteness

I paint flowers so they
will not die again