Poison and Medicine

The world starts every day in sadness.
The taste of love is seldom in my mouth.
I dare not touch my finger to my lips:
the memories of poison and kisses
are unbearable.

I cannot reach the chair,
so I sit on the floor.
The sun moves like the lifetime of an emotion
that I cannot touch.

In the evening, I remember to give voice
to the desire locked in my soul,
but it is silent.

I have to strip everything off,
let winter ravage and tear,
to find that day’s spring,
an imaginary sunshine in the dark hues of evening
mine alone:
love medicine.

The funny taste on my lips,
poison and medicine,
kisses and ice,
if I don’t touch my own lips right now,
that’s what would be madness.

My finger doesn’t feel like a lover,
but it wakes me up,
it makes me believe in the dreams,
I want those dreams on my tongue,
I want a lover’s lips to make a place large enough
to hold all the fears, all the mistakes
all the hope
I have today.

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