Help! she said

Let me tell you how

good you look

tonight.

You make my jazz sound

like a tale of good

life.

So bright the lamps shine,

over our two naked bodies

wanting to be a part of the

human modern

mythology

as holograms

of

Godness.

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

“help!”

and it’s me who’s getting

helpless.

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

disappears.

I’m left with my fears,

my common places

and you.

 

Painting by Paul Auguste Renoir

 

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