Sunday, January 31, 2016


Birds are no longer in harmony
in my sky.
Of course the morning is nice; yet
of course the morning is without sunlight.
I wait
with eyes pinned to the mobile screen
with waiting.
The warm wrap of your hand around my shoulder,
your thoughts in my shadow,
your eyes hatched wings beat on my breasts.
I think of you in a most direct way.
There is an urge to be your daughter in the next birth.
To depend on your warmth.