forgive me if I fall on your shoulder
Inside, the wind is too strong.
I ought to scream now and become sick, it is a sickness of war.
The wind breached red from my hair which had hide all winter
between the books
And a madman who was not afraid to love a woman
Made me feel special
Came to me to say good night
And to make a cup of tea.
Behind the wall, a woman screamed in the staircase.
Bathed in sweat, I lay beside him
A slave to the love of strangers,
My mouth torn upwards, my arms sent into the air
The tea spilled, puddled on the tablecloth.
I’ll never forget him, that time when all the paintings were in purple
But one day the door swung open and I saw he had aged in a day.
He laid himself out in my room, I asked him to stay,
And I slipped on his clothes.