I wanna see your face.

On a Sunday morning at 6.

Unmasked, unmade, summerly sweaty.

Asleep and awake, going back to sleep.

I wanna see your hair fall freely,

Taste your skin,

Touch your lips.

I would find—a piece of who you really are.

I imagine this wonderful.

An old withered sign

A whisper in your ear,

words unknown,

language unspoken,

pure lust,

pure pleasure.


In Ebisu, Shibuya

And related to this, but coming from here.

“Me

“Alone

“Forever”

Your bag reads.

Forever, though, is a long time.

Slow burn

Proudly, tall, pretty.

And then a base punches.

Lightly.

Reaching into.

Deeply, deep into.

Pulling the hood over my head.

Stilettos, moving, standing, producing a beat worth dancing to.

Pulling back.

Pushing up, like grass in spring.

Oh, hey. Music is saving my life again.

Your eyes focused on the night outside.

Inside light, keeping us up.

That you are is amazing.

That we are crossing paths is something short of a miracle.

Let me synthesise the memories of today.

And attribute them all to you.

Your trust means the world.

Through words I might just mirror you.

And when I pass you, I say thanks.

This is a slow burn.

Tenderness Absent [v2]

Body against body.

Drinking what you provide.

Licking you dry.

And it does feel good to give.

And it is best to be shared.

To see lust rising in you,

fill you, nerves on alert, hair standing.

But your tenderness is absent.

Truly felt, truly given.

Your body shakes in desire and I forget all of this.

Till our bodies rest, side by side and sadness will rise in the place you now reside.

I have to ask many questions and find many answers, but remain silent to not destroy the moment as it’s passing by.

I hate sleeping alone,

after sleeping with you.

2019/08/17

& 2010/01/10

Marionette [v2]

A marionette, dancing on strings.
To a sound only they can hear, grasp.

Is it me or you or us?
Are we dancing on borrowed time?
Finding, we pull the strings.
We dance a dance of time.

My wish remains to kiss.
To close the gap.
To shower you in tenderness.
Even when I am distant and insecure.

Who we are, what we are.
Remains.
What we want, what we dance for.
Escapes.

As melancholy displaces depression, I control my own path.
Pulling strings.
Pulling free.

2019/08/16 & 2020/01/10

Marionette by Mathew Jonson
& Submerged Metropolitan by Ø [Phase]

And things we don’t say

Things I say, sound dark.

Things I do, look hurt.

Things I laugh about, might be painful.

But not to me.

I just am.

Journeying to be free.

To be close.

And never that faraway.

I miss you, though.

Not expecting and respecting.

In the silence.

In the spaces between.

Where you live.

Where you stay.

Sleeping and kissing

For some reason I had ended up in a friends flat. It was clean, but also full of futons on the floor, empty beer bottles on the tables and crips situated between the bottles. The room had red walls, deep, dark, red. Not unlike blood, but darker.
It was cozy.
I just fell onto the first futon; tired, exhausted and all of them were empty anyway.
Somehow I was not in Japan anymore. This flat must be in Berlin.
I fell asleep.

I wake up, the door stands ajar and my friend just coming in with other people who seem to know me, but are surprised to see me there. She smiles, looks happy.
Groggily I get up and remove myself next to sofa on a pile of pillows. Sandwiched between the sofa and the wall with window and a radiator I close my eyes again as a party rages next to me. It’s daytime, but I just need sleep.
My friends face hovers over mine. She is very pretty and has a brilliant name. While I don’t remember meeting her in person, I know we have been friends for many years. There is a strong closeness between us.
Curly hair flys freely over her dark skin, with a big smile in her face, she hands me a joint. I am reluctant to take it, but she encourages me and finally I take it, to which she tells me “good boy” with a giggle.
This is the first one in a long while. I enjoy it with glee. I smile up and down, listen to my body stiffening and loosening again.
Her face still hovers over me, coming closer into a kiss that had been coming for a long time and does not last long enough. I am surprised at not being surprised. I just take it all in, let it happen. I just so enjoy her lips on mine, her tongue with mine.
As she comes down to sit on me, my body feels light. I give up control; it’s unlike me, but what I want and cannot achieve. She is close. So close it’s unreal.
As she unbuttons my jeans, I tell her I’m sorry, I won’t last long, I — she shushes me and does as she pleases.
I am just there for the ride and I don’t even want to describe.

When I come back I find her face asleep next to mine, her chest on my chest, legs intertwined. We didn’t age, we grew younger. I could move, would like to, but she is as a cat, I just don’t want to disturb her.

The image fades, but I force myself back. I want to say goodbye. I thank you, kiss you, then fade, then wake up, eyes closed. My pillow is nicely cold, but I miss her warm body, the scent of her cheeks, her taste.