Next to your bed

I am waiting for your silhouette to appear,

The organs cramped, tightened feelings,

I long for your reflection, the glance that

Works without verbalisation. I wish I knew

Who you were. Spread out on blankets,

You’d feel so deserted. The rings sinking into the

Wooden furniture and I’d look for your name.


I’ve held your objects tightly in my hands

And shivered. I thought you’d haunt me forever

During the night, because I wouldn’t sleep, I would

Talk to you, awaiting your presence, feel your

Non-existent kisses on my cheek, my head vanishing

Beneath the pillow.


The uselessness of your glasses still pains me.

The obsolete object simply lying there, waiting, too.

For you to hold them, clean them, put them on your nose.

And there they are, your eyes, the goodness within them,

The tragedy, the resignation, I still love you, remember you

In dire fragments, in sensory odes, lamentations, memories.

I’d crucify my body onto your clothes and love what you loved

Trying to follow you into thin air, translucency, memorabilia,

I hold you so close, I feel that you found a good spot.

white and pink flowerson a book beside eyeglasses
Photo by Burst on

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