to the illiterate

I have never thought of you

in this way

sliding on the well-known

clichés

I have so many times

missed

this one solution

that you might be it

that you might be

the beginning

you might be

the change

you might be

...

and the future

pierces all of

the coming years

straight out of

your pupils

and through

your small fingers

maybe that's why

I make you even smaller

when I speak of you

and try to hide you

from the world

with all

the big

and meaningless

words

and then

in the middle

of the night

I am writing

awkward

and so-much-more

honest

letters

to your mother

half-talks (#2)

I do know

what's wrong

with me

I said quietly

and poured us

another drink

you didn't react

just looked at me

with wide eyes
and a purple shadow
cast by your
eyelashes

yes

I replied

to that look

same thing

isn't it

you've nodded

and maybe

our fingers met
for a moment

just above

the ashtray

silence

perfectly filled

with voices

of other people
covered our ears
and left us
unable
to make a sound

now you just

look sleepy

I look as I want

to leave
(neither of us
moves)

half-talks

between the first

and the second beer
he asked
how are you

I've responded
in silence
language I know
the best

he took a deep
breath
and it sounded like
a song

you know
he said
you could just
run away

under different skies
where the air is thinner
and sun-rays heavier
where people have

no eyes
no ears
no voices
and there is no gravity

I tried to smile
but my face
didn't change
he lent me

his fingers
his palms
his closed eyes
to hide my shame

my lips
moved under
his thumb
warm

and covered with salt
how can you
run away
from yourself

he didn't say

anything

we drank

a bit more