After a thousand strokes of
a universe will change.
There won’t be me or you anymore,
and our place will be taken
by other you and me
so similar to us,
yet not knowing the smell
of the foam in which
Aphrodite was born
And the sea will whisper –
and the sun will warm
An imbalance of adrenaline and melatonin.
Circling in pairs
In the North-West direction.
She wanted a crown of pearls,
but he gave her a pot of geraniums.
They lived, yet not long enough,
probably because they didn’t post enough cat pics.
They were drawing the air, but it turned into
a raging fire, and everything around was burning
while the trees were crying aloud.
It’s hot in the city during the second half
of this summer. Asphalt is melting in tired muscles,
And you can hear the mourning of the mute alarm.
While he was looking for Nirvana in the nerves of the subway,
She found her peace in the metaphor of Hexogen.
Gravity is only
among many others
which chains us like some dog
by an invisible chain to the pole
that stuck in the ground.
and yet we invented
to bind us to
and what about the Faith?
a sacrificial artifact
it doesn’t have any feelings
neither any sense of belonging.
whether you’re living
or simply not loving.
That day you’ve entered my solitude
with your predisposition to transgress
I was trying to complete a jigsaw puzzle
of the “The Bridal Pair With the Eiffel Tower”
between some scattered urges to repent.
You asked me for a glass of wine
and to be romantic as you remembered me.
I told you to get the butter…
(afterwards I was with you)
on top of that unfinished puzzle
on top of that dusty floor
on top of those broken memories,
between some scattered urges