I perish on the edge of your mind.
Your torn open mouth.
The world that it lets loose.
And I’ll besiege your body with my ears.
I want to hold a pencil and let go.
I’ve seen you and heard of you in countless variations.
I care about the heart that beats.
I think ours are aligned within undiscovered fields.
The eyes of a child would always know you better.
The hands grow cold and not quite abandoned.
You’d never lose your thorns and I evoke your faraway voice.
I can still smell your chest.
The pillow of insurmountable tears.
Everything you held in and I let out.
We shared a sacred pain and echoes ran across our skin.
You can always feel the end when you’ve known the beginning.
I can hear an image of you whisper to me
When I stick my head under the blanket
And try to keep the candlelight alive on my altar for you
For as long as I can, for as long as it takes to have you here with me.
“Ruhende Frau mit Buch” by Ferdinand Max Bredt (1860-1921)