Time
Obsessed. My space is moving with the rhythm
of steps. not mine. Fingers. Playing with the
air. Of distance. Moments, slippery hiding
at the wrinkles of the skin. Sense of
broken glass of the city clock. Holding me
Hold me
Holding me in its reflections. Running in a circle
is a promise to never meet. Swallow the memory,
with all the words that disappeared in this
second. Rose petals are melting in my glass.
Passing the spirit from a hand to another
universe. This is crazy. Craziness on the tip of
my thumbs. Suddenly I am crawling flower
on the white walls of deserted city. It is warm
between. Air is heavy. Thunders. I am waiting
for the next train. Rain. One last, one more
glance, gaze, glimpse. Broken strings of
the hand watch. We are losing the time,
gliding on the backbones. Shivers.
All the time, waiting for the night to
hide in its wombs. Pulsating. Warm.
Too far away. Untouchable.
Let's meet the tips of our fingers.
Moment of existence. Close eyes. Open. Continue.
Breathe. Stop. Breathe.
What is this touch moving me towards?
The falling of the time. Minutes as crystal
pearls on the floor.
The clock is falling on the marble,
the glass is flying, the strings are
crashing. It is not dying, but death.
In this moment, existence.
Chez la floriste.
Tell me time in all the languages you
know. Over a cup of tea. With lemon...
Stop. Breathe. It is moving again.
Can I travel backwards? And still
getting older?
Dropping the clock. Flying to the
marble. Holding my breath. Moment of
death. And of existence.
