About what
can a middle-aged man
meditate and write
if not about love
Or must it be
about fight and endurance
ferocity or tenacity
pain and rotting away
melancholy?
About the past
or presence
or future
when each second counts?
Your children are two:
who counts your men,
husbands, canaries,
your lovers, relatives,
Who needs your toys and dolls,
who wants to know,
blind men only
naked with desire
Who counts your wounds
and caresses your scars?
You love my eyes
and I love you
When the night comes
to talk
each of us withdraws
watching the flies above
Tears hover around corners
none too far away
wild animals lurk
in our dark
We share our helplessness
naked
and
cold
And then
we show each other
how to walk out
for a swim
Cleansed through water
we watch a full moon:
We shall never sleep again
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