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.


& 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.
What we want, what we dance for.

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.

Dusk of the century

At the dusk of the century,

Waiting in line at my local shrine,

Others look back at what was won,

What was lost.

I choose to look forward.

The dawn.

With hope,

With humility.

There is still more to come,

Before the clock strikes 12 again.

I look in all directions,

But my eyes are glued to the present, the next step, into the future, into the light.

Where do we go next?



You won’t be long.
Looking at the barking fox.
Fox eyes, looking at you.
Smiling into the wall.

I was told, foxes are demons; seductive.
I was told I have a foxes eyes.

Sitting in nature doing nothing.
Just listening to my kind barking.
Looking into a foxes eyes.
Looking back at you.