The walls are tangerine
and they are coming close…
Suffocation in the place of amalgamation.
All the other sailors are partying through the night and meeting women with curved sensation,
they are all dissolving with the wildness of this city.
I guess drowning away is more familiar with people being for oceans and Oblivions.
I was never ready for even a single poem let alone all of these…
But memories make you numb and silent through your destruction.
I don’t make criminals out of my distant longings for immersion,
and the city is still burning with unknown fire
and I am still inside those tangerine walls,
drinking a bit more… thinking about the time when my hands would shake after the third whiskey…
The bare ass of my sweetheart takes me through…the sorrow in these lights of fading affection guides me home,
the ocean is coming to get me… there’s nothing else than sailing…
Sailing, sailing like birds on their last fly.

…………………………………………………………….

Photograph: Eve Andersson.

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