​With words that
dwell in my eyes.
​A burning desire.
To feel your arms
around me.
And taste your lips
once again.
Not the stillness
of a dying river.
But of the fireflies
freed in a nightime
love garden.
What do you see
in the poets eyes?
​

​John Coltrane,
​Stockholm I think.
​With Miles Davis.
​My mind travels to
​charted places.
​The scent of vanilla
​snow in the air.
​All those notes
​lazily flowing.
​And everything past
​is now displayed.

​Darker than the minds eyes.
The last rays of winter.
Now spring awaits.
Those delicate secretions
of soothing happiness.
No more silence at dinner.
My eyes escape to
these new memories.
Who is with me?

Today, I pass by
the fly-overs and noisy traffic.
Moving beyond the drama of history
and dramatic depressions.
I just walk.
Allowing myself to sink
deep into an ocean of oblivion.
Listening beyond the nights of youth
and nights of old age.
And everything is abandoned.
Except you.
​

Deep winter sun.
Near an empty bed.
You sent me a picture,
and the curtains swayed slightly.

As if by magic a sultry winter sun.
And I will lie down on the bed.
With loose vines all around.
Everything is tangled.
​
​

​On cold nights
​I drift off.
​To those
​phosphorescent fires.
​Waiting for me
​on our island paradise.
​The closer I get
​the more lust.
​Wild roses from
​an English garden.
​And I will say
​’Well here it is –
​my final home.

​A metro circus act
​Metals and concrete
​way outside their
comfort zones.
​Poetic words gushing
​about in buried cables.
​Only you offer your hand
​to guide me in
​these new adventures.
​Where shall we go?

A sunflower choir
taking time to form.
In the meantime
sky-to-land flashes.
Caressing the
midnight winter blues.
And waltzing to
soft melodies.
Not an alien, but
warm twines like a hug.

​Through every season
there is something
older than me.
Each step a word
and moment of magic
This is still our gold
and grey time. ​

​We met through kisses.
​Masking a hint of jasmine.
​You preferred tea,
​a mother’s wisdom.
​I preferred coffee,
​a poets choice.
​Regular or organic,
​we tried them both.
​But we preferred the kisses.
​Over and over again.