morning glory

​my heart stretches, expanding so little.

for all the accumulated space and time. i filled with books and music. paintings and sunrises. the counting of your moles.

i feel the ever pleasant ache of giving away some part of me to conserve another one of natures wonders. the icy thornes of frozen twigs. white branches glistening in the pale morning light. 
i breath in. the cold and ragged flickers of small wonders

you and me. in winter. 

your lips on mine – 

under blazing starlight,

among snow-covered trees.

raspy whispers fluttering across my frozen cheek. 

i stoke the cooling embers 

flames licking up my spine. ignited. 

and your skin. your touch. everywhere a tender caress.

bruises blossom around my hip bones.

a day, a year i feel your fire.

cold toes against your shin. 

under blanket forts we count the dancing snowflakes. 

get up.

get up.
rusty marks on chest and bone. i want to leave this place.

get up.
my brain is working full time. stop.
hide. behind rosy cheeks. your blackened eyes and
mean spirited demeanour.

get up.
from ashes. burned woods and cooling embers.

get up.
raise your voice. scream and stumble trough the roughness of your throat.
now is not the time to find cover. no threshhold will let you pass.
no candles in windows to lead you to a silver lining.

get up.
on this maddening path. in search for change. for one is only still when dying.

Fragments 1

Figures of speech, running and chasing – to the uttermost bewilderment of man. Up on a hill and down, down to the ash-filled holes of earth and filth. I scramble my words, the scattered letters. Worn like a crown upon my heavy head.
The smart connections of daily conversations. On never stopping, gleaming screens. How do i yearn for the sound of sentences, brushing my ear. Numbness of intactions. Atrophie of humanity, how Huxley predicted it so many short years ago. I want the Beat- (nik) of familiar souls, simmering in this heart of mine.
Waitin, waiting till life starts trembling. Blood is streaming down my cheek from constant weeping. The smell of bound paper subsides to a dusted memory. Do you not crave the touch of skin on skin?

copyright (c) 2014 by franzad

For M.

Dear …..

I am sitting here, beneath the branches, swaying to the autuum breeze.

Thinking of you has taken on an obsessive character. There is a part of me, hiding like a trembling child, waiting in anguish fo a single word of you.

I resent and nurish this paart of myself.

And every once in a while, i detect a question rising in the darkest back of my head.  Why did i let you take hold over my quivering heart? Is it the human nature, which keeps my cells from parting?

Do i relish in this enticing pain? My trust is dyining, in slow-motion. And i let it.

How much are we responsible for the feelings of others, of our own?

It amazes me, how easely i let myself become this needy and wanting. Yearning for something…..you.

 

My cave of molded memories.

 

But not anymore.

I dont want your words, harsh or loving. I kiss goodbye your once so loving lips,

– producing butterflies – inside me – tangled.

I want truth, disecting all these parts wearing my name.

I want love, but not yours, not anymore.

I want as both to be whole again, seperatly.

 

copyright (c) 2014, by franzad.

all those latin names// it doesn’t do their beauty justice

truly magnificant. i want more of these moments, dont you?

jaywalking the moon

photo-249

.

it is the way of first dates,
a little nervouesness,
changing my dress a hundred times

i bike there, on the way
find a place to stop & sketch
sitting in the sun on concrete steps
the geometric movement of my pen
a safety net

“you look beautiful” he says with dry lips&
“your top’s a little transparent,
is this on purpose?”
“nope”
we walk in and out of greenhouses,
humid warmth, blue & red birds
flattering round our heads
“look at this flower” i say
“what an amazing shape”

i’m careful not to touch too much,
he sometimes grabs my hand
and it feels like in 8th grade
“did i get on your nerves
with all my emails last week?”
“no” i shake me head “i just need time&— ”

in the next greenhouse runs a vid, a bee crawls,
drunk with longing for the scent the black&yellow…

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