I have been there before:


I have let people ride

all over me, breaking

a smile – how could you know

possibly, that this hurts?


I’d repeat in my head:


I’d rather be, always,

a tormented friend than

a rejected lover.

I choose seeing things twice


over never again.

Latent – a letter

I want tell you that it’s over, I want to tell you that it was just right.

I always liked how you kissed my forehead;

How you pinched my cheeks between your thumb and your index finger

– I probably still do.

I want to say these words.

Instead, I become ever more silent: I fade out and fade away slowly.

You will barely notice my vanishing.

I expect you to call me up and I truly hope you don’t.

Speaking up is hard whenever you are near.

I haven’t practiced my words.

Do not get me wrong: I want to be around, like a latent energy.

Like a wave in the sea, I might come back.

Probably in a different shape and surely not right now.

I see the tide is low.


I approach you

the same way

I approach

a rusk dissolving

in my mouth.

once broken

into pieces,

bit by bit,

you are easier

to take in.

pushed slightly

to my palate,

I wait patiently

for you to go

soft and delicate.

right then, I’ll push

a little harder

with my tongue:

firmly determined

I remain like this.

as your brittleness

is mellowed;

I can taste

you everywhere –

and swallow.


and then the details

come back to me:

like boomerang-shaped needles.

the farther I throw them away,

the harder they pierce my chest

and my weakened stomach wall

to scar me with the stories

about the shape of your upper ear

the one I could have been

or could still be – roaming.

flattering effects

don’t you dare flatter yourself for the reciprocity

I am a Schrödinger’s conundrum

I want you and do not, both at the same time 


don’t you dare flatter yourself for any of my moves 

when I’m telling you that it takes two to Tango

I might know the steps, yet you sure took the lead 


don’t you dare flatter yourself for the fire that I start

I was just about to light another cigarette

to blow some smoke into your face


don’t you dare flatter yourself for the grasp 

by the low-fenced window side

it was wide open and I was close to fall


don’t you dare flatter yourself for the song we sing 

as close as we were that night, you’re not the one 

running in my head, nor breaking my chest 


don’t you dare flatter yourself for my boldness and my courage 

they’re my possessive claims’ only disguise 

washing off beneath your tongue 


and don’t you dare try me again –

instead, pretend as if this never was

and we, in fact, did not exist.

where they tore down the house

at the Southern corner of the station

(where red steel blends into the tracks,

below the blurred graffiti creations):

try to not get stuck in the cracks,

Keep right until on fresh tar,

turn left, avoid the crosswalk,

ride on and mind the parked cars,

stop beside the grey block.

here, before and after town,

they’ve recently torn down

the house where we first kissed.

in a room with no doors,

nothing but us on wooden floors,

It must have caused a lot of dust.

your mixtape



I THINK (Tyler the Creator, 2019)

there’s a limit to your love (James Blake, 2011)

somewhere only we know (Keane, 2004)

somewhere over the rainbow (Israel Kamakawiwo’ole, 1990)

I don’t know what the weather will be (Laura Mvula, 2013)

although the sun is shining (Fleetwood Mac, 1969)

never seen the rain (Tones and I, 2020)




And so it goes (Billy Joel, 1989)

late in the evening (Paul Simon, 1980)

all is full of love (Björk, 2002)

I am in love with you (Imogen Heap, 2005)

even though (Norah Jones, 2009)

just like Jesse James (Cher, 1989)

too much love will kill you (Queen, 1992)

ventilator effects

there is pressure on my diaphragm

like right before a free fall,

before I cry, throw up,

or laugh hysterically.

my head hums to flickering eye lids

as there’s a sparkly liquid

running down my spine and stomach wall.

it is coming from my head, I think.


these sure are just the side effects

of your new ventilator.

It must have been,

the rhythmed blasts of air

towards our locked hands,

heavy breathing,

and our beating hearts,

that cause me so much pain today.


a chain of people holding hands in Lebanon

–dozens of kilometers, I heard–

the book vendor’s voice as she elaborates on some Norwegian novel

–I never read it in the end–

his pink shirt smelling of a wooden wardrobe and Chanel

–it used to intensify toward his wrist–

people singing well on casting shows

–although I really do not care–

Snow Patrol on gravel-grounded morning walks

–sound and pulse and volume–

breathing in snow-pregnant winter air

–I could taste it when I was a kid–

the morning we began this list, high on caffeine and in love

–unlike you, the formication did return–

Blog at WordPress.com.

Up ↑