I don’t want the morning,

I don’t want the night,

the face buried in the pillow,

the tears that blur the sight,

the child left unattended,

your shallow, careless role,

the cruel insinuation

that I must change my soul...

I’m tired of the frosting,

the cream upon the cake,

your arm upon my shoulder,

so thoughtless, half-awake.

I don’t want the handshake,

the gesture cold and small,

nor the final kiss you press

like farewell on my skull.

I don’t want the morning,

the sober daylight’s weight,

searching for my clothes again,

the timetable of fate,

the lead that fills my body,

the thirst that dries my throat,

the “come-up-here” of loneliness,

the secrets never spoke.

Will the truth be spoken?

Then I’ll go at once, undone.

The rabid future leaps

it follows me, it runs…