dirty secrets

we light up the cigarettes

and look up

stars float in the sea of ink

for a moment

maybe few hours

we can ignore

everything else

and it's OK that you

touch my fingers

with yours

you help me climb

the roof of the car

neither of us

is saying much

we don't need to

we never had to

at the night time

secrets don't look

dirty

how it is

in my ashtray there is plenty

of cigarettes butts and insulin vials

that's the reality

we can pretend it's different

that I have so much more to offer

that I am so much more interesting

(let's agree - for the sake of the argument)

I can pretend that I am interested

that I care

that I give a shit

(supply my little green insulin

I will pretend I am indifferent)

and then tell me

I am wrong

I am mistaken

if you wish

I can nod

I can agree

I can be duly

to all of that

'there is so much more in me

that I can offer'

and now

- like a good boy-

pass the orange one

...

there there

that's how

it is.

telltales

it's kind of a telltale

that I hold your hand in public

or hide my face in your arms

and maybe sometimes

I stay silent

for the whole morning

seeking refuge

in the shirt

that is way too big

still - I bite my lip

when you ask serious questions

and refuse to answer my phone

for many many days

you know very well how

I take my coffee

and what

you shouldn't talk about

it might be it.

present conditional

if it was snowing

your nosebleed

could keep us safe

if it was snowing

no-one would

give us directions

we could be lost

and not found

if it was snowing

all our sins

could remain hidden

and we could just

build a snowman

out of our past

to haunt other people

- not us

if it was snowing

we could pretend

the winter has come.

finally

I remember, remember how you were there

I remember when we used to

waste our time 

and laugh just to fill the silence

I used to pour water to all the cups

in the kitchen 

just to show you their different measures

you used to say my eyes are like stars

(but where did it leave the moral law?)

I remember your fingers

wrapped around my wrists

and how I've enjoyed

not being able to move

being anchored to the bed

being your possession

I remember listening to your voice

and nodding

not because I've agreed with you

but because

I've agreed with your voice

how my whole body
was agreeing with yours

I remember when I didn't want to remember

and I remember how I couldn't

I remember when I started

losing my memory

I remember

how I remember

all the atoms exchange in my body every seven years

I spread my arms

in the long soft grass

with a thumb I cover the Sun

it's no longer

I allow green leaves

to wrap around my neck

the finger-prints that were there once

are no longer

I breathe in and out

exchange all the oxygen and atoms

what was laying a moment ago in the grass

is no longer

air bubbles

between my bones and skin

there is everything that

keeps us apart

if you would take

a little needle

and blow some air in there

- it could remove it

- it could kill me

between my bones and skin

are all the words

we never say

it's almost like a religion

this silence of ours

go on

give me some air

Sweden

it feels a little bit

as if I had come back

from Sweden

and it's not that anything

important would have happened

over there

nothing that would be worth putting a full stop

or emphasizing it

nothing worth the exclamation mark

yet still

if I were in Sweden

for the past couple of days

if I would have cleaned my dirty hands

with the pale Swedish grass

if I would have cling my finger tips

to the walls of the buildings

if I would have fill my lungs

with this white and thin air

then now it would be exactly

like that

- as if I had come back from there

empty

thin

and silent

Purgatory

"Let's go to the church." That's what you say. Then you just shrug your shoulders and fill the space between us with question marks full of restlessness. Yes, let's go to the church. I nod and collect all of the words that got scattered across the room (I might need them later on). I lift myself from the chair while you - you are already at the door. Air between us shakes and trembles from the heat. Church can save us. Church with cold stone walls. Absolution from this day, redemption from our own hell. Let's go to the church.

Drops of sweat, dirt and profanum travel from my neck, through shoulders and somehow - on the way - disappear. Not all of it, I do not become a saint. This would be way too easy. I try to look at you without actually doing it. Your steps are longer than mine, your shadow so much bigger than the one I can cast. I know for a fact, that if I would ask you to let me hide in you (under you, next to you, with you) - you would agree. But I remain silent and just hide behind my sunglasses. I might only start walking a bit faster, not to stay behind, not to get lost.

There is a big stone bowl filled with water at the entrance. You gather some of it into your hands, blow at it to disinfect it and pour it into my mouth. Amen. Amen to all of these gods we do not believe in. I know I could smile, I know I could say 'thank you'. But the silence wrapped already its fat tail around my throat. So - no. Amen.

There are traces of other people’s sins all around us: they lay abandoned on the wooden benches, carelessly carved on the walls and floor, some reflect in the stained-glassed windows. I find a forgotten bible under my seat. "Open it", this is what you would say - if we weren't mute now.

I turn pages and really want to find a passage that will mean something, that will become a full stop to this day. A passage, a sentence, a word - that will allow us to break out from this ellipsis.

This is when you put your hand on mine and say: "Credo in spiritum sanctum". I nod and finally find my voice. Yes, jesus-joseph-and-mary, let's get some drinks.

Amen.