My feet are getting cold.
Too much time piled up
Against me.
I do not hope anymore,
Except in secret…
Where I build elaborate lies in honour of your beauty.
I build them around the sharp fragments
I cannot bare to look at any longer.
But still their shapes haunt me,
Wrapped in my needs.
I dreamt you dug a hole for me
Your eyes glued shut
Wishing I might fall
In there, with you.
But I was more or less lost.
The sea was at my back
(which was in pain)
And distracting me
From noting.
I always said I’d write a book one day.
That day came and went
And returned
To remind me
You are still here.
You are the hole
And cannot fall inside it.
I dreamed you
made me
A hole.
related subjects : 2012, feminism, intimacy, poems