NOW I CAN Poem by Dubravko Detoni

Now I can only make love to your voice. The pale fibres of your cries touch me, burned by the swollen nipples of the hairy telephone, the piping hot juice of your words dripping on my knees and feet, the smoothly opened void of distance gazes at me. I'm squeezing myself out like paste from the tube of time, I'm sitting in wet-fragrant hollows of your silences. Nobody in the world could press antennae back into their old place on the erected giant my case has become.