The last time we did it,
I couldn’t give you infinity because I was drowning in alcohol.
If I knew it was the last time I would have done it in spite of anything.
Now I think about it and I get hollow caves in all my works,
you were meant to be drawn from the slits of a narrow blade.
Emptiness is real in every motion towards immortality…
I still see you in crowds of falling sun, I still drink from your delicious moments,
it bothers me.
I don’t like to live in moments…but every time I fail to get away from your’s.
Love is strange…it is relentless…no matter what; you always make the mistake of taking love as fulfillment…
Where as it’s a gypsy soul…it’s free…it’s uncaged…it’s brutal in it’s death.
Look at me honey, the steel inside me is burning with your long gone touches,
I know you are in somebody else’s arms…that’s okay,
I have my words to suck the erections…but what about the transient bloods and veins,
they can’t be tamed without your open mouths and your unkempt hairs like northwester.
I don’t care how much love poems are written before this,
I don’t fuck with numbers…
this is perhaps the only thing I can give you from distances…
My blurred tigress…I am naked and I am drinking like a bloody swine,
but I want you to know that even if I get finished today amidst all these vulgarities of so many women,
still I would go with the rythyme of your melancholia and with your moist inflammation.

…………………………………………………………….

Photograph: Vitaly Friedman.

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