sleeping

when you are asleep

you throw your arms

high above your head

and your hair

always looks like a

a dirty halo

but

for sure

you are a sinner

even in your dreams
how the hell
your dreams could be good?
that's what
dark shadows
under your eyes
tell me every day

to wake you up

I spill water

on your forehead

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.

paradise lost

in my head

your face is blurred

as always

it’s not that

I don’t want

to remember

I do –

- but can’t

I put cucumber

on my eyelids

trying to preserve

the images of the day

I leave post it notes

on the lamp posts

when I walk home

I sing to myself

our conversations

and the lack of them

your name is the one

I write on the back

of the motel bible

together with Jesus

you stand for my sins

and oh Christ...
at the dawn

I still can’t recall

your faces

gospel

tell me where it hurts

here?

I push my finger

against your forehead

you squint

and without any sound

move your lips

I spit on my hand

to baptize you

and pass

the gift of speaking in tongues

now

in so many new ways

you can

tell beautiful lies

tell me where it hurts

you push your finger

against my forehead

and smile

in an ugly way

I nod

and stay silent