My Angel

Every fold of you spoke like waves,
You were cleansing me in each millimetre
Of the colours of your soul
I understand your depths,
You trail dark thoughts left
Under the crevices of deep, dark sea,
It is liquid to appear in the warm water
Surrounding the page’s turn
Of your hold,
It whispers an affection I can dream And taste like carbonated saltwater,
You are Raphael’s Angel,
You look into a Jesus-heart
With a glow like God,
I cry at my lord’s love for me,
He has shrouded me in your lips,
Curling like the waves’ anger, they kiss,
And consume us all, oblivion we reach
Your patience, you teach,
It’s everlasting ink stains
The corals of my skin,
Forever friend, hailed oceans of love away.

Lover’s Clot

Dark tunnels, street light vessels,
Small footsteps leading to your heart.
But it’s not there.
Sometimes I traverse my arteries,
Just to run with the blood-waves,
And tie up sticky heartstrings,
Torchlight in my hand,
Checking up my tough walls,
Knocking the atriums, no answer,
Till the clot finds me,
And nothing’s moving on.
Dark tunnels, street light vessels,
Small footsteps leading to your heart.
But it’s not there.
My lover’s clot houses a cloy crag,
Amongst the tissues of lost kisses,
And hardened pictures of smiles,
Rubble of the shared food, 20 ciders
And spilled laughter, 7 octaves lower
Nowadays.
Sometimes I wish I hadn’t gone
Checking up my ventricles.
Dark tunnels, street light vessels,
Small footsteps leading to your heart.
But it’s not there.
And when I see you,
All my atria starts to shake, earthquakes make the plaster crumble,
And suddenly my heart is consumed to my stomach, then back up,
Like yo-yos, up and down at your word, and you hold the strings,
Dark tunnels, street light vessels,
Small footsteps leading to your heart.
But it’s not there.
And then I let the clot fester another day.

BF His

They remarked with the same identity
I loved you rather loosely,
But he was tight, fitting,
Left me marvelling at marble arms when he was sitting.
Upper causeways, brick cobbles,
blurred streets,
You twitched the live wires in your chest
But he wears stitches like dreams
And chases trains of sugar cream.
Like yo-yo string you wrap around your fingers
the guitar strings loom around his play-hand, it thrills us
And my tiny heart strings roll into shoestrings, tie a knot, they ping.
Inked out into oblong treasures,
the size of his glasses, his hair,
Fitted like tapestry you still breathe soundly my lovely doormat
He wipes his pumas on you and comes to me for a chat.
You yearned for my touch when you were mine.
I called out clouds, ten thousand,
Asked you to be whisked away
But BF His hugged me as if to say,
He knows not of us last Thursday.
The guilt didn’t leave fire in my cells or poison in my lungs.
I carried on.

Oskar/Ana

Ana,

when I first came to Frankfurt,
the smoke rose out of the industrial collage
and painted the sky a grey I couldn’t fathom
till the day your eyes became my birthmark,
and stained my vision in your cloudy and weathered irises.
Mein fräulein didn’t tell me,
about the future, we’ve always been naive like plants in heated and lit greenhouses in winter,
at Weihnacten you used to take me to eat bratwurst and grandmother’s strudels and baked frangipani
And dropping the cases now, to Dunkirk I’ve rested here some 300 days,
unsure, pale, green and aloof like sage, it’s gibbous moon tonight,
I fold the memories in the contours of that image of you staring through my Großvater’s telescope,
summer stuck in my teeth, kuschelbär
Ana, when your eyes film yellow papers, the shots to my head do nothing,
wiped heart smears across the gullet of britischer fire,
not I, Boener gives not a fuck, not I, not the next schwuler could slap off your kisses,
skin’s stained with the picture of you holding Una,

and her eyes were always yellow.