Although Paul Simon’s song
was just about to play
We closed the door behind
last night – and walked away
into the drizzly rain.
Perhaps it was right then
that I could cease to look
for reasons that would justify
my presence in your life,
and just be there instead.
Perhaps it was right then
that I could find in you,
My friend, my long-lost pal,
as Al can call her Betty
and Betty calls him Al.
in·no·cent | \ˈi-nə-sənt
from Latin innocentia,
that denotes no ‘harm‘,
as well from Latin nocere,
‘injuring‘ someone,
or anyone involved.
blameless with integrity,
upright and disinterested,
lacking guilt or artifice
like a child,
protected and naive.
surely free
from legal wrong,
free from guilt and
free from sin,
with candid lack of knowledge,
I declare you are:
ingenuous, artless, ignorant
of the evil you have caused
of the guilt we’re all incapable
to blame you for.
If not full of myself
what else should I be full of?
Or would you, rather,
have me half empty?
Maybe you never were
More than a reminder:
Of the sugar cravings
I’d oppressed ever since
I was thirteen years old.
Maybe, I never was
Meant to pick her amber
Hair off your shirt that day,
When you put too much fake
Honey in my flat white.
Or maybe it was just
My body that could not
Stand winter days in May,
Which seemed so cold to you
And offly warm to me.
And surely it’s not you
Who’s lying here right now;
Since you’re 8000 miles
Away, while I am back
With him in that place: Home.
It
Might
As well be a
Watershed moment,
Since I like to dive deep,
Always, until I can hardly breathe
Until I can hear my heartbeat: Loud and clear.
That day,
we sang to drown
Out the sound of the
Rain hitting our
Stubborn
heads
Three keys are lying
In the clean and empty
Kitchen cupboard,
Ready to be taken away
By the lady who’s
Checking the flaws,
Our flaws, the ones
We did our best to wash away
Four days in a row,
With acid and with baking soda.
Three keys aligned,
Three keys, not four:
My key had slipped
Through the hole of
My white tweed coat
Some time, long ago.
Maybe I’ll find
That missing one.
Then I would sneak
Through this door
That will lead
To a life
Which won’t be ours anymore.
The photos on the wall
Won’t show you or me or
Anyone we know.
The air won’t smell
Of the cinnamon granola
I made the day before.
You won’t be lying
Asleep on the sofa bed,
Waiting for me
To wake you up.
And still,
I might be keeping that key.
Just because
It once opened and
Shut our world.
Her soprano to my strum
Under stars on someone’s patio.
Sea-breezed highway rides
Stapled to his waist.
Honey-infused coffee, twice
At Dolce: 9 am.
Dozing to her heartbeat
Having conquered paradise.
Carpet, fire, popcorn, blankets
As rains rage outside.
All shapes and neon colours
Running the city at night.
Brownies on my backyard-floor,
Just because we could.
Tablecloth like sugar-coating,
Or like smoke.
Giggly, tipsy, and best cheesecake in the world.
Twerking, jumping, sweating,
Hair sticking to hot heads.
Walking home and feeling safe;
And feeling it still.
Like the red pencil
That’s carried around always,
Easily erased.
Like the old pencil
That you still have in your bag
Blunt, but not broken.
Inconsiderable,
Never jeopardizing space,
Don’t dispose of me.
