In lipsa de…

Ma scurg pe carari opace…

In groapa sufletului ma inec.

Agonie fara cel mai mic extaz,

Venin continuu galgai stins.

Ma autodistrug in note de “mi”,

Ma crucific fara de cruce.

Dar ma inchin…

Gabriela Porojan

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Her chamber is locked

She looks at him with warmth

He’s so lost in what has been, in all those “what ifs”

He doesn’t seem to be very awake even though is clear daylight

His mind wonders but the touch of her hand awakens him

“Can this be true” he whispers to himself terrified

“Where is she?” He asks her in disbelief

“She’s there” she says, calmly pointing to his chest

And then her being covers his eyes

His mouth is full of her faith

His hands are digging her flesh

“Go away you sorcerer of grief” he nearly screams…


Wrote this in 5 minutes. It’s what may seem a sequel of “The right ventricle”. Somebody told me it should continue… I tried. This is what came up in a very brief and undisciplined attempt…

It’s all love and late night writing shenanigans. Peace!

The right ventricle

I tangled my fingers into his god-like beard

I followed the traces of his jaw bone, down his neck

That led me all the way to those two chambers of his heart

One for me and one for what was left of the other one.

I fortified my walls inside his beating hub

But at night I hear her knocking lonely from the other side

“I don’t want to die” she whispers…

“I’m not here to kill you” I add in the pulsing darkness.

*

*

Draft that I never convinced myself to publish. Some drafts just get all dusty in here. Some of them might never see the light.

It’s all love and late night (very late) shenanigans. Peace!