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erotic poem

im Hafen neuen Yorks
Sie sind frei
in einem alten Raum beleuchtete weich
ich schleuderte meine Seele zur Luft wie einem Falkefliegen
ein kleiner Pfirsich im Obstgarten wuchs
Sie sagen, daĂź Sie mich lieben
es gibt eine Stunde des ruhigen Restes
ich rĂĽttele mein Haar im Wind des Morgens
bewiesen im Schimmer in Ihren Augen

 



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