Oh, how you would hop
in the front seats, dear stranger
for the memory of adventures never chased.
Though, you’d always
dress to go out
with eyes that try to complete your syllabus.
Though, aren’t we all
sceptical radicals, strangers
with our bodies like flying carpets
in bloody shitty dreams.
Sometimes, how beautiful
the rose tree in the garden was
or in a very sexy song
while the grass dries out,
while the rain drops less,
and your breasts shrink
and our flaws…
Are the devils waken up too early?
Death is my favorite stranger,
why be shy now?
It’s like trying to flatten a scrapped piece of paper
our life, dear stranger
as if always would start at night,
or our dance with fading partners.
NO, IT’S OK! Let’s talk.
The only one seems to listen
the band on the stage
and he is actually flirting
with the girl playing the flute.
It’s too late now
all the moms in the city have already found a shelter
under their children’s quilts,
dads under their alcohol, you under your mistakes,
as if only a candy is missing in your flaw.
Oh, how you’d wear shaky deserts, dear stranger
on the top of your broken down giraffes.
« Would you buy me a bad bad candy, dear stranger? »
