hoopoe hopping on a summer's day;
here we are, striped black and white
and flashing crowns of facebook flirts
and future days.

you might not know what these words mean
but it's okay. i don't know either.

brain works in mysterious ways
and the universe just knows the way things go:
as long as we are truthful,
the stars are looking down in smiles.


Ever since meeting you
my life is drenched in coffee.
Replacing caffeine for touch
and cups for cuddles.

I run around this town with bloodshot eyes
looking for signal.

Drowning in daydreams
I'm losing touch.
The thought of you has pushed me to the edge
of reason
and i'm hanging out in dirty seaside towns
drinking vodka and cranberry juice so sweet
my tummy's frowning up at me
with age-long wisdom and the grumps.

To imagine what you'd taste like.

as of late, the drunken dawn just slaps me in
the face with brutal reprehension, as I reach out for the instant coffee tin
in desperation.

The drive to work is full of
bodies, lips, tongues and skin
as I elaborately embroider
this illusion of proximity.

Existence floating in intangible realms
of cybercoordinates
I only eat and sleep and work because I have to.

I'd rather spend this waking life
just thinking of your words,
the curves and colours of each letter
lying there shaking on my screen.

I spill my coffee and overlaugh in conversations.

I stay up playing pool.

Inventing gods I worship them;
I knot my body into a prayer rope
and loop it through your outstretched arm.

I live but do not truly love
as I am out of focus.
Not fully devoting myself to each and every moment here,
I am a heathen of my own religion.

People around me are inquiring about my switched-off brain.

I say: he's here, but you can't see him
and you can't feel the pain that spans 6200 miles
and fills my heart with salt,
like the Atlantic Ocean. 

And people stare with apprehension
pointing to the broken glass at my feet.

I say: he makes me wanna chew this broken glass
and that's how much i want to know his smell
and run my hands down his arms. 

They walk away in silence shaking heads.
I stand here with my cut-up bleeding tongue
wriggling on the floor.

I pick it up and put it in my pocket.

I know you'll laugh when I forward you the photo
later while we text away.


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