’Try me a poet, girl’,
he said
drifting slightly away
in my eyes,
swimming
in an ocean of noise
silently
crossing the lashes
jumping from one lash to the other.
as if to make sure not to drown.
‘bittersweet destroyer‘
I tell him
and his laughter makes my ears feeling numb
makes my head dizzy
and never coming down
we fly as we might
and
that cold floor we are lying on
pricks me into my back
‘these thoughts‘,
I’m whispering
and my lips are dry
and shaking
and I could tell
they were
bleeding,
’these thoughts,
make them a poem, boy’.