Some slight movement of the bed,
At night,
And I suddenly become alert;
Is it shaking?
Is it an earthquake?
I stop and stare,
But nothing moves anymore;
It might have been an illusive perception,
Or I have caused the movement
Of the bed;
I have never had
These kind of perceptions,
In my head before.
But we have had two earthquakes.
And even though,
The earthquakes have ended.
Memory remains;
Memory never leaves you;

He entered and came next to me;
They had decided the roles;
He was the supervisor
I was the employee;
«Why are you sitting?»
He said to me.
«I have been standing for 8 hours straight!»
My legs are hurting;
I thought to sit for a few moments;
Now there is nobody in the building.
Therefore I have no client,
Whatever;
So there is nothing I can do.
«How can you say,
There is nobody in the building,
While I am here?»
«If there is nobody in the building,
You have to go to stand up for me!»
I stood up;
As he went away
And sat comfortably in his office;
A clown in a costume, probably chatting online;

Hush
Look
Mud can talk.

The seduction of a feel,
Of a flower,
Of deep night.
When
I think of catching the spirit,
Of the
Night.
Over there
On the
Palm
Over the stairs.
If i could catch
That
Slump
Into a gaze.
Encryption
And
Put it in a
Vase…
Bottle…
Paper…

The touch, so deeply desirable,
The bloom is opened,
Especially in the kind dark.
Reaching
For the comfort of this living ghost,
That
Warms the evening.
My view is
Of the
Arching branch
Sheltering the walkway.
With
Graceful sway
It enlivens my spirit.
Few, perhaps only one
Feel
The sensuous art
Of phrase...
Of hand...
Thought convoyed by eyes only...

You are the smile on my lip
You are the verse on the paper
I panick not to loose your number
There will be no poetries anymore.