Berlin in June
Berlin in JuneI fear every relationship
for the end it could possibly become.
For the heaving at night
alone
just a wet pillow and sticky sheets,
and lungs
sore from the gasping.
And a body—crying for arms
to wrap it up in warmth,
and lips…
lips pressing into a thin, white line,
knowing that one day
they may mutter again
the words the heart feels
lying cold now—
swollen— hard—
in the chest—wishing, like so many times before
to never love again
and to love again
quickly.
06/2001
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