*
I know I may be fine walking alone:
just as I do, and exactly as I love
to feel the cities spread widely naked
under the shadows of my many silhouettes,
oh, and so raw
fresh brutal velvet vibrant purple smell
of poppy seed
not necessarily locked in the summer heads
it's winter shelves making it round and ripe.
*
The past will forget us quickly in its armoured steps
as I forgive you: I do, I try.
It’s not easy to explain pain, deduct the reasons
when my mind leaves me lonely on my own
and proximity is just as broad as naked
as the distance is real and bare.
Reality is just as real as you do not guess it otherwise.
*
I want to hold on to the idea of unknownand undiscovered
to the thought of being [loved], no explications
but blossoms in the touch
we die where' à la folie' ends.
*
I well rememberhow you canceled the first time after Hong Kong,
writing edges, sending but the blades
a few days after my May had upraised weary on the wings of brittle paperplane,
and the bells were already heard up to my place:
Sun felt like winter without shelves for getting ripe.
Then you canceled just about the thousand times.
You always had a reason. Each time it was pain.
*
I know I may be fine walking alone:
just as I do, and exactly as I love
to follow poppy seeds
instead of flowing perfumes, pedaled coins.
*
I keep meeting a subtle stranger: a fairy, perhaps a child,
walking alone, seemingly just fine, dressed in flax flavours,
veiled proudly in the idea of love, fragile in its boldness,
simple in its deep, pure eyes, walking alone,
warm, and just fine.
*
