by Ece Apaydin
Such as the world is turning slowly in an old Scottish stamp on its lap
I am turning and kissing his face and eyes
kissing such as from the misery of a school choir
mentioning from the donation boxes and I am never leaving from my eyelids
I am sending into myself my other half which is trying to explain herself
like a sober letter that pours out its stamps
to the threshold at the last moment
who knows when will I receive it
As some worlds keeps on turning on its lap its approaching to each others
the creations instant pleasures are dark such as a stretched drum
relaxing those things that are being subjected by the night
I am kissing such as collectionomania
a train descending from a black-and-white shrubbery
of course the grave owners mentions about the deads
in the midst of the herbs
from the heat of your manuscript
I never leave grumbling
this give up is to the flower-house
I am calling out from your lap for the first time.
ECE APAYDIN
Last updated June 12, 2016