Body moves
without me
I run
after your face
with a smile
of desolate streets
I have seen it
becoming all surface
and you are mist
beneath my touch
can’t find any shapes
but this one
no excuses or a name or the things
you wanted me
to do
the God that is a hole
inside everything,
I found the entrance to your desperation
so easily:
truth is a desolate joy
that comes
empty handed.