colin

it was raining sand that night
wet and liquefied
its vapors crept in my lungs
cunning thing a grain of sand can be
its seed planted itself
and grew blossoming stones on the branches of my throat.

you said "I feel like crying"
but you were just willing to cry
such strange phobias a man can invent
to keep his instinct of self-preservation satiated.
a gazelle would be startled
by the dreadful mimicry of your will.
so it was raining fake tears,
expanded clouds were mocking your sterile lacrimal gland,
such a waste of gestures
your cold hands and your breath were.
you clocked off,
such a pretty good-bye you fetched for me,
or so you thought,
as you turned off the lights
clouds could no longer harm you,
"the employee of the month I am'',
you must have said to yourself,
another can of beer,
another little chat,
that simple the dissection of a special someone is.

it was raining that night
the waterlily on my left lung
was growing bigger and bigger
its white petals turned into horns
like twisted origami
pushing against my chest.

I said "I wish you well"
joyful odes and libations
rain was singing for my milky flower,
so it kept on spreading
its claws tore my tissues,
painting itself on the canvas of my muscles.
stroke after stroke,
like a lazy pagan god
it resembled you more and more.
deliriously the notes of the orchestra
blew the spheric sounds inside me
turning them into a silent vertigo.

it was raining mute words that night
a fake hero with a 7 days passing-ticket
had just finished his 5 o'clock tea on the battlefield,
he took his para solar and left.
as my Colin was going west to climb the Berlin wall,
the waterlily on my lung was laughing...