Poetics

xxiv

in the morning it will be the colour weight of night

skin against marble and towel, the hangover

of waste and exhaustion, the colour of your

body under water. this is what

we will always remain, a dangerous state

of the continuous nothing – me writing this

in the lobby minutes after check out,

you coming out of the lifts with every

opening of the lip event, going up and

going down – never home.

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