the city runs its wet
tongue
over my shadow.
i feel cleansed of all my urban urges.
i buy kobain a shot of loneliness
still waiting for a violin
to re-vivaldise
our existence.
he confessed that behind your eyes isn’t really you
but the definition of the word
departure.
as the senses will suddenly defrost,
your hair will flood the city
once more.
i tend to become omnipresent and you have my word,
i shall set order in the fog.
starting today i am its god.
i’m waiting for you in a world where you all
will be
translucent
beautiful
poets.