poets
In the darkness of the day I can feel his arms around me
as far as he is
he can duck and press the gas medal
quickly, urgently, not even a riot
could stop him from ringing my bell;
he can come up close to me
and kiss me with his fluent tongue,
charming words,
hot love escaping his pores
as he races to see what the fuck
I am up to today
with my theory of the day mood swings
poetry readings in crumpled sheets
playlists of old tracks of my heart
that still make me pounce
on the front line of his soul.
Every city sinks at one time or another
every colour turns blue
shades of grey
are just a fantasy
memories float on the river
of my small city
(who the hell collects postcards besides me
who the hell cares for seashells
in the middle of…
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Christina Strigas 