the ivory tower

i have to concentrate now,
stop, gaze into nowhere, try to gather all information available
as ridiculous it may sound, it is significant
you can empirically try to dissect this phenomena
this problem
so sticky
like wet clay on my boots
dragging me
like in a dream gone wrong
dissection, affection
doesn´t go well.
i´m impaired
i can´t hear the scalpel cut through the layers
too loud the noise of
her hair, flowing, her perfectly harmonic features, but not pretty, more like
a Rafael painting
and the sweet sting her self inflicts on me, like roses in winter -
past, present, later,
hopes, that it matters
concentrate, don´t let go yet.
cling onto that scalpel
cut
remember
you are
not always


a ghost

can you love her more than yourself?
she might be looking
at you
her fists clasped
fumbling tumbling clumsily
tearing, cutting, ripping, forgetting
from her little ivory tower