I don’t know what follows a catastrophic sunset,
I have never lived through the apocalypse to know that.
But tonight when the hanging clothes touch each other and make a noise of togetherness,
when the trees outside distract the glowing smokes from practicality,
I see you with your arms crossed and hairs spilled over the white sheet.
And I find light, I find a pocket of fresh detachment.
I have seen in your smile that eternity is comical… your body, my body…your music, my dwellings…your hiking, my wondering…
Limitations are surreal, death is on every stairs and I am drowning in your sleeping and truest self.
All the cycles that go through the virgin woods and make affairs with longing and libido…
are love poems.
You are a love poem, your eyes when seen from a quite angle are love poems,
this smell of a baking night has always been a love poem.

…………………………………………………………….

Photograph: Flud Lagoons.

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