Sudden awareness of the reality, —
a pain of remorse.
Of an unconventional amorality, —
for better or worse.
In the night I’ll crawl into your kitchen
and drink all your wine and absinthe.
afterwards I’ll whisper my poems
into the keyhole of your boudoir.
I will posses your body,–
while your psyche is counting sheep.
hushaby, mon amour, don’t resist,–
this morning, an agony will become real.
You heard about pleasures of Heaven
or a suffering in Hell,
but for the soul without body
that doesn’t mean anything…