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.


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