talking to myself became a common,
in my house i sat and silent murmurs
came to me, like visions of the past,
i've discussed them with you,
words almost forbidden, sacred came out, but that didnt stop us
after that the present would come
wrapping its wings around us
the bitter sweetness of coffee, comfortable silence, afternoon's business laid upon the table
missing the status quo in talks with friends
losing track of time in midst of peace, not chaos, when time matters, like the hand of a clock dividing us to our small
spheres of bitten lips, ink stains, and laundry on the floor
i would give up the banal conversations for you, I've gotten used to them, they just make you listen a bit less to people
i would give up the blue skies for you for i learned by your side that sun cusps the grey cloud better in the unbearable rain
i would give up my soles for you as they need not a purpose except to search for you, so maybe they'll get a break for once
i would give up the machinery of the city, the economists and taxes for you, they only stress out the blind of society, and we lost our eyes long ago
i would give up scapulas for you, for they always remind you of the wings we once had and i hate your hopeless humanism
i welcome you to my life with all your problems,
give me reasons to hate hearing echoing steps on the wooden floor
indicating your arrival,
your departure
have not my life in your grip but stand by the sills of windows and conspire the grip of the world with me
the invigilating nature of the people watching, dont own clocks
ticking your life away and sending you back home,
linger near my exit for just a little bit longer, captivate my soul in the small movements of your hands, fidgeting around to waste time
there was no light in the corridor,
the abstract wind catcher of a city apartment, an old welcoming card;
but i could still see your silhouette
though my vision was blurry
though you were in motion
for my entire life; picturesque
it was not -- incomparable simply
to anything of aesthetic
your clothes were soaking dripping wet stains onto the floor,
and your breath was far from steady,
such image has no existance beside of my dull mind ridden with sleep
heed my voice speaking like a childhood lullaby you've forgotten
find me in your back garden of fruit trees unreachable,
lose your head in the blue skies of where once freedom could be found,
and come back home through rain
