For David and the one
Brown winter coat
(so for all it's worth, consider this a draft)
It was late in December,
as I wandered the streets of a ghost town,
with a spirit, with blood and with light –
a halo, a short glimpse of Life
And as it could be, this way or another,
merely a dream, seemed to emerge,
or a world by its own
I was drunk when I met her,
she was sitting there listening,
and I —
considering myself being vivid and warm,
growing deep from within,
and finally speaking, with a voice of my own,
I experienced genuine words of joy
And my partner, my friend, the Poet the Artist,
he needed me just to get back,
to get back home
And I was not alone, we were two
angels, two wizards, two kings
and a third out of nothing appeared, as he joined us along,
and drifting, he sailed to the desert beyond
Our way was a thorn, enigmatic in form,
twisting and turning it all upside down
And I had wings, yes I had wings,
and my friends arms around me –
as we left town
Then later we landed, in a place
full of magical objects of melody, colour
in detail and sense
And as hours passed by,
we drifted away, and words were so silent,
so soft was the music
And Friendship was written in Fire
I finally left, walking back home,
moving in circles and crossing
my invisible footsteps away
I was missing the snow, but struck with the beauty
of a ghost town captured in moments of time,
in this dream we whisper the name we call life
As for the girl whose name I am missing, I have her hat on my pillow,
her scent and a promise –
to meet soon again ...?
I wonder, what makes the turn of events eventually sudden unfold,
and so on,
As the silent wind whispers, caresses my soul
I close my eyes and I know
There's no sleep 'til Gothenborg
26.12.2015, Malmö
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