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| Claude Monet |
many years ago, the ticking of the clock ran out
and with that the blast of secular life
making infinity quiet
your humid skin was entangled with mine
in the brown room you went on and on telling me that
all men had the same desire
the only thing that differed were our acts
our bodies bathed in salt
on the foggy couch.
the surge pulled us out as the tide rose
you would not be quiet
and told me that the sea is the only enduring thing
if people could act like water our corpus would be kind of flowing.
neuroses would not kill us
the body wouldn’t stiffen
i drank your wine
ruthlessly
intoxicated
(originally published in 2009)
© Anders Enochsson
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