‘’And in the night’’
With a drunken man lying down stairs
Conversation flied through the twigs as if there were only us
And she hooked me onto this thing called romance
In front of her friends’ house, used to.
I was dreaming,
It was sweet.
The voice so bright the moon lights between the lips
I felt the warmth of blood through my vein
Drifting off to love.
I promised myself that I would never lose her
My timid desire for a delicate she,
I’m scarred with fragile affection,
I thought of that sometimes.
Romance is now dead and done.
And it cut into my rib cage deep and sound
The breath of baby dead silent
And it cut into me between flesh and soul.
‘’I could begin to open up and risk desire
For I move slower and
Quieter than most’’
I’ve gone too deep too soon I still forget too slow
I wish it wasn’t that way but at least it’s you.
Touch me here
Dance to me
‘’I don’t care
If’’ it repeated
I want to be where you are
For all that I desired humble as it can be but last a bit further
Than that of a cut flower
So when I look at the stuff there still you are not gone
Flesh and soul
Deep and sound
*Recomposed from Ex:Re – Romance by Elena Tonra
Love will fix it,
However I can’t fix love.
All that I lost, I missed, and all that I’m missing.
But she is there, right on time.
In the stream of unlimited moments she is out there awaiting me to bump into.
What if I can’t see all her beauty,
What if it’s always not enough?
Any thing stimulates me; everything is about you.
Thirty-three autumns that past,
Last words of the three thousand years old sacred tree,
World that has yet to come,
The tiny notes that remind me of the existence of a you.
(This work was partly done last October)
It has been four hours,
If the night falls it’s because it has no option but be
like there is nothing so certain at the end
certainty that we celebrate.
In the afternoon the solitude hurts me,
You are incapable
of hurting me anymore,
as you are gone,
to somewhere only you know.
Maybe your yurt,
Don’t tell me,
I can’t bear it.
I couldn’t see that coming,
but live it.
The world that I didn’t expect,
an empty one that I never thought of.
It has been eight months
passed without me noticing;
I was in the midst of torment,
and I’m still be.
Afternoon has been static,
Particles frozen, in the glance of existence.
Fly makes no sound,
Sunbeam cease to defuse.
As if no future is coming,
That universe is the end itself,
Clouds depart, emptying.
Left on me deserted sky, vast vacancy,
Much sorrow under the brilliant sunlight,
As if it cares nothing.
Leaves whispering gossip,
Millions accounts of the life and death
Of things that cross our mind missing.
Much was lost, things I forget,
But not that haunting thought.
Reminding me that I,
Under the Sunday afternoon, still a broken heart.
Lays the sun
Drunk the feet
Point the toes to the swamp
Let grasses bite you
in the freshly opened summer
Your shade leaves that agitates my heart,
As though moonlight vanishes in that thin morning mist,
Into silence, you depart driftingly.
I sit up into a pitch of dark torment,
Forgot the length of time, weakened corps aches as if the deaf hears the cry,
A self floating.
Vast, void, antithesis of eternity,
Fear now sleeps in me, surrendered to night terror with my incapacity.
What an atrocity.
Yet you assert this is reality, as I
Inhale the emptiness that permeate the uninhabitation.
You left; “morning has been blackening.”
Robin egg blue
Wintery lentil soup
Your voice in our tiny kitchen
Ash tree seeds
The irresistible moisture of your wee lips
I miss you,
And all those miscellaneous reminiscences,
My memory a daze, bygone is a future once might be reality.
The trillion molecules
Drafted from the ground, station in the air,
Transcend into heaven, we once called.
The immense, remarkable.
So light it weights as angel,
So substantial it sustains storm.
That which shadows the earth,
The unimaginable, so to speak,
Ask Kant, we call it sublime,
That trillion molecules,
The awe-inspiring wonder.
Bernard, Rosemont, Jeanne-Mance Park,
Honourable, semantic, overpass,
Doctorate, Galway, Esplanade,
The miscellaneous reminders,
Loss now the only signified,
Carefully they cut through my pulmonary valve,
Now that you are omnipresent.
The entire logos my haunting ground.