Him Poem by Anna Schmiedigen

What I like about him?
His preserved collection of dried petals
and the scarlet novel? ..
..his cheeks perhaps
over my soul scattering joy drops?
Sheer flute relish -
while sitting beneath
my tenderness awakens..

He did not forget me
On a finger carried me on
Arising softly swinging me
By the time my eyes
Yet not come to bring its color

Sough bends after breathing
He loves me
I think,
He does..
He loves me long
A little more than man
Metamorphosis

Where?
Is he close to my shadow?
Laconic, as the moon wooded
Through my burned forehead
He clung me lasting
To his thorny branches
Smoking the laziest heart beats

I like it, sappy
Discolors the skin
Breaks open my flesh to pour with rain
New wine – verbosity
Poetry booze.


He wakes me up
And asleep in his arms
Crying unwords I blink
Flurried would i hide in him
Like the grass in winter
Lost to the face of the world?

Light touch he asks for me,
Calling me
On so delicate unripe

Now..
Lies somewhere
Watching me live
This way, he does not hurt me
Thus he alone and so free next to me
No time nor bleakness is around
Is he:
Ardor and voice
My eternity, mandolin grave
Is me,
It’s
Him – a midsummer night song.