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Literature Text
Ich will wieder Gänsehaut.
Ich will den Atem spüren,
der meinen Nacken liebkost
als wäre er eine warme Sommerbrise.
Elektrisiere mich,
will deine Haut auf meiner,
Hand in Hand,
Auge in Auge.
Ich will,
dass es weh tut vor liebe,
dass du mich berührst
auf alle nur erdenklichen Weisen.
Ich will fühlen.
Ich will leben.
Free me
Ich will den Atem spüren,
der meinen Nacken liebkost
als wäre er eine warme Sommerbrise.
Elektrisiere mich,
will deine Haut auf meiner,
Hand in Hand,
Auge in Auge.
Ich will,
dass es weh tut vor liebe,
dass du mich berührst
auf alle nur erdenklichen Weisen.
Ich will fühlen.
Ich will leben.
Free me
Literature
Ceteris Paribus
In an eon
You and I will greet the choate moon
Surrounded by her fairy dogs
warrior wolves and magnetic fox tails
who howl some foretelling tune
decoded only by the whistling winds
within my once listless room
I nip your Adam's apple by my Cupid's bow
we are a perfect art, a Sistine Michelangelo
We are stomata of the umpteen,
swimming in each other's dulcet drippings
of halved and pitted French tongues and ears
Let the years pass in this gentle deaf-muteness
where Ceteris Paribus
In this, Hallowed and His Seraphims know
how in the glow of one night tide
the firmament of all
folded into my limitless room
You and I part in sweet sorrow
t
Literature
Staring into Space
In between 60's and 70's rock, a radio host speaks
In a boistrous voice deep and reassuring, and a tone quiet and expressive
He tells of artists and albums, as I look out the window, out into space.
Into the dark blue speckled with stars.
I'm nine, or eight. My father is driving us home, and the scenery is a desert
vacant, and pure. Undisturbed, but for the humming of our engine and soft background music.
I'm pressed against the window, or upside down facing the stars. I can't really tell.
I'm visioning spaceships, seeing radio signals, hearing vacum.
We've been visting my grandparents. They've been living in the desert city for 40 years
The
Literature
Dream Invasion
In the dead of night the culprit stole;
Into your dream to take you whole,
Lacing thoughts with such blight;
Stealing your heart for its own delight.
Within your head it creeps and lurks;
Placed by terror and dark’s deep quirks,
Cold and sharp behind your eyes;
Pouring up in incriminating cries.
The blank of white streams in tears;
Forcing out your primal fears,
Twisted into targeted hate;
It strips you of your chosen fate.
Now you are but to paint the lines;
A story to tell of her crimes,
Prose written in desperate plea;
Unable to hide, unable to flee.
Forever stuck in the cold tide;
A surge which you are forced to ride,
It was but
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Kleiner Fehler: es heißt Brise, nicht Briese
Kleiner Fehler: es heißt Brise, nicht Briese