Help! she said

Let me tell you how

good you look


You make my jazz sound

like a tale of good


So bright the lamps shine,

over our two naked bodies

wanting to be a part of the

human modern


as holograms



Don’t call me brutal

on these words

call me on

some other time,

when you won’t be mine,

now let me fill…

these lines

in your presence.

That lays here,

trying to join my atmosphere in a

search for good health

but breaks the silence with a soft


and it’s me who’s getting


You smell just like a dried lemon

cut out in half

so I could breathe in

your bitterness,

while you grab

the bottle of red wine

and say

“you want some?”

my fear subsides

my reality


I’m left with my fears,

my common places

and you.


Painting by Paul Auguste Renoir



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