I start to write, unsure of what will come
to form these lines, like someone with a drum-
stick experimenting
or some fool scientist inventing
by numbers. Noise
reverberates incessantly; boys
with sushi sit together
or apart. The sudden weather
stays outside
while I - quite vulnerable - sense my pride
collapsing like warm water from a bucket.
Fuck it -
I'll speak before my voice
gets lost, and say: had I the choice
between a brand new start, more things to do
and life together, I'd choose you.