segunda-feira, 23 de novembro de 2009

TOUCHanging flowers

“the moment I wake up...”

crash the vase. the storm water needs to be cleaned and I solve things slowly as someone who methodically takes off his clothes against the mirror. hands desiring to touch even bones. there’s words that can not be spoken, others, however, are more than needed. three, two, n-one. these flowers of evil hidden in your eyes. the lonely counter-attraction of hours. as a shadow you dwell in my bed’s corner. remains to be-lieve in the embrace. the kiss, at last, always wakes (me). flesh raises bristly. I feel your face’s brush in this deadly dream. must release the butterflies in these roses in these artificial roses

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