My sunset is
below
the stomach
of your moon.

I kissed your bright stars
and smelled the parfume
of your feet,
one grey great morning
in bed.

I travelled with the boat
of the everlasting kid
as rain outside
made the cars look clean
and shiny.

I have fought noone
for noone
and loved you
more than alcohool,
on that bed,
under those white sheets,
where I also saw
the bluest butterfly.

In the dark foam of my
filthy existence
when climbing was
pointless because of the late hour
you allowed me to sit on your lips
and gaze into the wells of your eyes.

And now my sun rises
and your moon hides itself
in the laws of space
and I try to learn the way to
live without you.

In bars
again,
with smoke alcohool and denial.

I just spilled my guts here.