35. 36. 37 / Now that days go uninterrupted
although with eyes open, slightly.
At times, your lashes drip with light, just like scraps of painted shadows.
At times I lose my mind on the blindside of your neck.
Coffee does not make any difference, soaking the body, pushing the fiddly strain backwards.
A scrap of paper lays nearby, white, limply.
I draw a few well outlined pinpoints.
Then I go back to your place, worn out:
reading, calling you, waiting for the night
swelling out space, take out the shutters
snuggle beneath the sheets
Adding to the bed unmade my undone body
Today we will not go to work
we will go on overlapping one another
amid the disastrous bleakness of the day
popping our heads out from the silos to have a crazy laugh.
(if love is what this is about)
How much we wished we hadn’t woken up this morning.
Come back on this experimental body we attempt on the sidelines of our little discoveries.
To keep your spirits up you played imitating my hands, I tried my woman’s look.
Under the rain, yesterday, hardly heavier than in dreams, I committed to definitive sentences.
Feeling: it tears apart in my ears a recurring music. It overflows from all sides.
A scream as if built with regret.
Little remorse like cut off heads, black nails.
And often I wish to fall asleep inside the credits of a film
without breaking the day into the night.
I don’t feel sleepy.
Translated by Maria Hanea Raluca