7 separate us from each other: 7 models
vis-a-vis: 7 models over their coffees: analysing
their hairdos: their lips: their tits: like a beautiful,
tender legoland: will somebody reassemble a model
This very night bites you with the moon in your face.
Sharp glistening teeth of the towers lit up the stars above our city,
as the black sky falls heavily into the gardens.
You are singing, dear princess of laboratories,
in dark forests: thickets and copses:
cyborgs: steel-swarthy constructions:
with mouthfuls of wild strawberries ponder:
what fujara was: who was a shepherd:
It is me, returning after all these years or else centuries, ma princesse.
Nothing, but Europe has grown old in the maps, and the seas gotten all lined and
a faint shadow of a sister...
...that which emanates from fragile translucent bodies of plants
and autumn melancholies, faces of girls
frightened by coming of age.