This is enough for me now. A dusty white fan sitting in the chair where you sat once maybe, pushing cool gusts at me, both. The alley is silent out there. A spark now and then deep in my worn out head brings you, and I cage your blossoming. I want your ripe flowers yet I want them sewn in my garden. A rough outline of all of you caught posed is melting beneath my rigid light. We escape eachother...
I see through you, to somewhere ancient and sliding off high cliffs, falling towards magnetic night, i pierce your eyes with mine, an emptied room, a white wall with marks of living and chaos, you’ve lived a thousand lives, and yet you drown in a small ocean i wade in, it is your turn.