the space in between my fingers
I am the sunrise
in your mouth
I am the honey
in your blood
and the 53 moons
on Saturn
on some days
all the
mornings, afternoons
evenings and nights
they are all the same
like when you check
into
a pretty hotel room
but the view is on the
backyard
and not on the ocean
and some kids
are arguing out loud
over a ball and a plastic comic figure
of a superhero
with a scratch across his face
and a loose arm
and you sit in the dark
watching movies
naked
curves of your body
reflected on the tv screen
next to a lightbulb
and a nervous moth
crashing with the blinking
light
I wonder if the moth is getting headaches
just like ordinary people
get
and the other ones
the ones that look at the sun
with their double lidded eyes
open wide
I wonder if they
get them too
but being the latter
is a headache itself
but then
you come to
an old reinessance realisation
that nothing
compares
to love
it is as if
you see something glowing
on the edge of a dark, green
lake
that is frozen
with whiteness
that spread over
blue maidencane
and silenced cattils
you unwrap me from
my sunflowers
and I am here
looking
at the sweet almonds
of your eyes
and all the polar bears
are asleep
dreaming about spring
and fat salmon
in the silver river.
