the artist turns softly in his sleep blonde hair resting against
the lillies on my pillowcase & I wish I could
let my body fall from its defensive pose & love him back.
he tells me that he loves my strength the way that in
a laugh I could extinguish the world & instead
of telling him that this is just the gauze I hide
my frailty behind I pretend to be asleep;
dreaming of empires and revolution the girl
who extinguishes silence with sound and sound
with silence the world set alight with fire and rage
but only frailty. I let him go.
his smell interlaced in my fingers follows me
into the city I do not yet know how to love.
his body is lost to mine the lillies do not remember his
dear caresses & I mean to call him but
his voice does not remember how to answer mine.
I crave him when I walk through tower blocks
unguarded and through solitary fields where trees
obscure the sky I stay inside my head unprotected
from myself & his memory guards me as
I drift in and out of sleep.
Miriam is a British writer living in Berlin who is passionate about literature, art and culture. Her hobbies include drinking overpriced coffee in cafes, ambling through scenic parks on sunny days and singing jazz and blues.
