Post-war dreams
It was one of few nights of my life
which didn’t end in disillusion
She was so social, so contemporary
she had the smoothest motions
We ascended together
like two eagles, between the sheets
What might’ve seemed a trivial thing
was so much more to me
in the flickering candle-light
she became my “tode ti”
We lay, whispering into the night
studying the post-war dreams
I don’t want to clean the clothes I wore
and I don’t want to make my bed
then I’d have nothing to remember her by
except the images in my head
She smelled like fresh cut violets
and that smell is haunting me
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