eyes to the window
the train from here to cognito
in this city of stone,
that's where I've built these chains,
in this industrial city
is where
I met him.
laugh,
make me laugh I said.
he tossed his head,
scratched the top of his nose,
and blew into my ear
as I looked for a break in the clouds.
tell me,
did I speak too loud?
I was always afraid of that.
memories of conversations are blurred:
sopping with his eyes,
wrung out with his departure,
dried with separation,
the lines of the actual events smudged.
he lay me down
between white sheets
surrounded by candles.
lay me down and said
you are so beautiful.
we rode on a boat tour,
even though I hate being a tourist.
neither of us spoke the language,
so he laid his hand on my thigh,
and I laid my hand on his thigh,
and we tapped each other
to point out interesting sights.
his arm sliding around my shoulders felt like home.
ashamed, suddenly,
I wrapped a sheet around myself.
he sat at an electronic drum set,
thick headphones on,
recording a tattoo of our rhythms.
in the space of a heart beat,
a boy in the shape of a key,
he let me loose.
he had sturdy, milk chocolate hands,
soft as they traced my knuckles on a railing,
gentle as they massaged mousse into my hair.
they were foreign hands,
constantly exploring my knee, my hand, my shoulder, my neck,
as if he needs must remember how I feel,
for the day when I wouldn't be there.
laughing, with strong white teeth,
soft lips.
I was some damsel in distress,
incapable,
trying to get in cognito
because my clumsiness embarrassed me.
he pointed me to the right s-bahn,
grabbed my hand,
pulled me close,
and landed his lips on my cheek.
good bye.
this rhythm is one of perpetuation,
not the caged child of knowledge.
this song is sung of laughter;
love has nothing to do with it.