honeymoon is over

in need of a new mission
time to fill my gaps
another obsession
to erase the stains

and your face on TV
as the soft snow
colours the day
mellow mellow

sounds that erase
my longing
fingers that trace
my belonging

in need of any mission
flesh to fill my gaps
whatever obsession
to devour the stains

Fridaynightcandysugarhoney

The train is arriving to the platforms of our city. I don't remember if it is Saturday night, if it is spring. Let's say it's Friday, let's say it's summer. The wine we had in Stockholm has made me softer, warmer, more contingent. The air is humid, but not overwhelmingly. Your familiar silhouette contrasts against the ugliness of the construction site. In that moment, everything turns beautiful, divine, extraordinary. I'm sure it is the wine, I'm convinced that it is the love.

There is no one else than us, we stumble out of the train, head for your place. The light of the lampposts makes the contours of the deserted market square dimmed, less frightening. ”I want candy, I need it.” You laugh, I love you. We laugh, while we clumsily run in order to make it to the store before it closes.

I choose my candy, the intoxication has removed my restrictions. The heartshaped marshmallows, the swedish berries, the flammable lips and the sour cherries. Too many, of course. You take the sweet chocolate, the square fudge, the yoghurt coated almonds, the arrack cones. Last call, pick your favourites.

We head out to the night again, the store security guy closes up the store behind us. A marathon of downloaded cheesy TV shows to accompany the candy? Yes, dear. Yes! dear. You know what makes me happy. The only thing I need for that is your company. And a bag of my favourite candy.

On occassions, things rumbled her world and she felt obliged to act.

(Perhaps a new life wasn't the solution after all?)

Tidbits, glimpses, completeness

To stroke with fingertips over the cover of favorite tunes, to sip on a cup of hot tea while the snow falls oustide. To notice the orange streetlights seconds before sleep takes me away, to yearn for melting springsoil. To decide to take driving lessons, to talk away an hour or two with a distant dear friend just because I want to hear her soft voice in my ear, to long for other homes across seas and times. To wake up and eat german bread while the morning news connects you to the world. To sit in armchairs, trading time for daydreaming, to walk alone on frozen sand, through thick pine woods and arrive at open seashores. To watch high waves form foam when hitting the waterside cliffs, to hear changed voices of distant younger brothers, sisters.

To lie with eyes closed on sunwarm rocks in lonesome archipelagos, to eat freshly boiled fish during sunset, to drink cheap wine on moist lawns, to fall asleep in lukewarm summernights on a blanket beside another body somewhere in a metropolitan park. To spend time on a longdistance bus with my favourite author, on my way to meet a dear friend. To sink into the words from an admirable professor, to write down my life in one of those red-black covered notebooks, pick it up years later and laughingly read about myself. To head to foreign countries, to sit with a fully packed suitcase and butterflies in the stomach at the airport while people passing occupy my field of vision for half a second before I let them go.

To wake up completely rested, to hand in the first paper for the term, to borrow a movie about love and/for wine and watch it among friends, to borrow a book I've wanted to read for too long, start reading it and put it beside me on the bed time table, to briefly think of you as if you were beside me, to go through tomorrow's lecture, to turn off the light and fall asleep assured of everything's sudden completeness.

Toward spring

If I close my eyes and pause the music I can hear you talking in your sleep. I can smell your scent in the sheets, your salty moist warmth beside me. I can imagine biting your lower lip, gently kissing your ear. I can hear your arousal – clearly, vividly. How I push you against the shower wall, how the water molds us into one being. I can still feel your body waiting to embrace me, how my excitement increases as you place your hands, tongue, eyes on my wanting body. Having been loved by you gives me comfort, puts me to sleep into tender dreams (of hope).

I don't play the accordion

I thought there was no falling below this point
until she started singing
leaving time and space behind
and my body on the wet floor

her words were suddenly mine to bear
in that vacant space
between skin and blood
closer to the past than I would have wanted to

I don't play the accordion she said
never catching my eye
her hands were white as lilies
with sharpened edges

please rest inside me a little longer
can I stay for this night
forever?
I'm short of other highs

This is for you (the awaited one)

Daydream of you. You were still close, I made pancakes with maple syrup. We listened to rare soul, to spring in lightly packaged sun showers, and talked about art. Oh, how you've grown – from that fragile body in my narrow bed lightyears ago to this extension of life. My beloved (flesh and blood).

Nightmare with you. The room was cold and the outside world was banging on the door, screaming to let it in. I remember holding you until you fell asleep, lying awake watching you, your pale forehead, keeping track of the steps outside that door (the thin thing between us and fear, hatred, the unknown).

Future for you. Still unwritten. I feel nothing but childish pride: there will be no tomorrow like this.

Revolution checklist

If available space in suitcase, also the following items:
* sunglasses
* baby powder (or an equivalent product)
* hair colour
* little brother
* exile ticket to Japan

Rules of attraction, of love lectures, of cafe life

No. I wouldn't have caught your eye a second time. Intelligence has never been trendy, not in a bodily way. You wouldn't have stayed overnight if I hadn't tried so hard, worked so fucking good on my superficial performance. When the funparty make up is all washed off, when routine and everyday life becomes permanent tenants in our life... You liked having someone else, someone more modest, moderate underneath you, didn't you?

I feel nothing but contempt and disdain against you all - your false pretentions, your plattitudes and cheap rhetorics. There's nothing beyond those words, you never behave differently. (You claim that attraction reside in your body, your genitals, hence is natural, is right, is the only unchangeable way.)

You don't think I see all this? You think I'm so darn liberated that I don't care? And then the blaming sequences come, causing rivalry between my sisters and me. What's the use of pretending that beauty exists outside these rigid boundaries? I should use my energy for transcendence.

little you on a stage and the crowd cheering
summers on blankets with stars in my heart
hours between the shelves of my favourite record shop
your back soaked after a bike ride to our sanctuary in late spring
sweaty nights on the dancefloors of anachronistic beats

I think I'll burst

Warm light in a winter's day

I tend to forget
about birds singing
about murmuring streams
the warmth of the sun

This day that belongs to spring
resembles chewed nails
young yearning hearts
swollen memories

It has slip my mind
that other lives
different beauties exist
outside these four walls

Summer should have ended long ago
Best friends change
a fresh fringe cut in the darkest hour
new black glasses

I suddenly realize
that the extended hours
were not mine
outside these four walls

I thought I belonged to the night

It's one of those nights when it's minutes away from rain. Another forced night of demanding socialization. Still I need this occupation so I don't break completely, fall apart and lose the pieces. 4 am, walking barefoot in December, with her singing in my head (that this is the year everything will happen). And I never make promises I know I'll break, but this year is (going to be) different. This year I will be different. It's time to grow up, time to deal with baggage I've dragged around for too long.

And I wake up alone hours into this new year, wishing you were closer. You've told me not to be so sad, to find the light. You are that light. Forgive me, dear, can I ask you to relove me? I've lost every beat of my heart, to you, to your country, your melodies.

So, dear new year. Bring me fortune and fame, happiness and joy, love and new beginnings. Bring me the security I need. Make me different.