(a.k.a. Another Song on Lack of Communication)

Because the good in life escaped with you,
I search for it in other people’s navels
and keep on saying
“oh, this is great”
and it’s my mouth that lies and not my waist

but a bed without you is an entrenchment,
my lover’s the unknown soldier,
hostage taken.
My war goes on and on on every pathway.

I hope you will turn up around every corner
and I think you don’t know that I’m still waiting.
I sometimes wonder
what would you say:
You’d say that you still like me and you would kiss
stranger’s lips, you’re not to blame.
I do the same indeed.

It’s sad how our song faded away.
The words of our dancing feet are silent,
and now that it’s mine,
fucking only provides the chorus line

but orgasms without you are simply questions,
the stain of my goodbye has turned a pun.
And kisses feel like tongue-in-cheek tongue twisters
which try to fill -but empty- my existence.

I wish you will turn up around the next corner.
I think you already guessed what I’m expecting.
I sometimes wonder:
will you be waiting?
But you’d never advance a single word
until you’re sure,
and I am doubtless,
but that’s something I wouldn’t dare to tell you.

So I put into this pocketful of absence
my words, but your imaginary voice
can’t fill the emptiness
that only your phone call could feed

cause a poem without you is a thesaurus,
the report in my private TV news,
and days became the slow tick-tack of waiting,
corridors in hospitals, wax melting.