June 6, 2017 § 1 Comment

Somewhere between breath and light

there’s the sense of disappearing,

of becoming the dream in the past,

the faint memory in the future.

We’re not a definition in an encyclopaedia,

nor our bodies will obey words. Any.

We know though, we will know

what to kick or to kiss. How deep

to scratch that wall, to leave a sign. 


§ One Response to Kleistpark

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