gentle
intruder – shy – but persistent
I‘m barely awake,
caught up
in a state of not-knowing,
not-thinking
the world does not exist –
yet
your arm around my waist
is my first reality
I caress streets with my
shoes alone
inhale thousands greetings
rooms buzzing with
questions
rooms impatient for answers
usually they survive the
paperstorm
and I return with green and
blue scars on my hands
we sit
smell of coffee permeates
the air
clashing with the tea
leaves in your pots
quick words hang on your
tongue
meant for other people and
another day
your arm around my waist
is my first reality
