Still

Still, flat lines,
Drawing but eternally being drawn;
Our lives are so restless.
Romance with no name eats its heart out
And prays for satisfaction.
The sky opens up and drops new things
Onto our curiosity and boredom,
And we never give in
And we are never sorry.

I know you don’t want me to write right now,
But you’re nearly asleep – a moment of peace –
And I’ve never been so penetrated with emotions.
You kick me softly, once,
Twice and I drop the piece of paper,
That spreads its wings
As if nothing had gone wrong.

You can’t see me because you turned your back on me
But I’m awake already,
Wrapped in morning’s light
That even illuminates your corner.
You turn and the bed makes funny noises
And you yawn
And you sigh,
And the light fades into the other room.