inspired by Nick Cave
I take off my headphones
and Rakhmaninov sinks,
vacating some room for monotonous buzz.
(a fan is blowing dead air at my face.)
dead, because it’s missing you.
I put my glasses away,
on my desk,
near a fresh drop of tea on its surface.
Tired of seeking The Truth,
between lines of code,
and infinite loops
of daily news.
(massaging my forehead and eyes)
and again, thinking of you.
No, you didn’t call.
No, I didn’t forget how you look, —
I simply never knew.
Another moment lost, while I’m longing for you.
and another went into the abyss, —
lacking a meaning of you.
Where have you been all these years
while I was nourishing blues?