Neighbours kids upstairs are awake, birds are singing in our Kiez. I wake up earlier than you, which is amazingly surprising. My feet are happy on the cool wooden floor. I prepare a huge cup of Earl Grey you especially bought for me. I sat in knickers on the floor, put Cigarets after sex’s vinyl I brought with me from France. Breathing out the outside. Feel the crisp of your white shirt you let on the old wood chair in the kitchen and I borrowed while waiting for the boiling water. Surrounding by your smell.
A melt of cold cigaret in your hair. Black coffee in your neck as a hint of perfume. The fresh water on your face when you return home. Metal cords on your fingers. A hint of blood cos you scrape you knee as a kid, hey « it’s only skin » I sang for you. The sun through the window, the odor of plants, from breathing Berlinen green. And the smell and the taste of salt, from your long walk in the city, forsaken, where you need to be afar off me. And the stones from the sea and the gold of the Rhine, and the water of my birth. And the smell of love, and the smell of sex, and the smell of hope and despair. The smell of my child’s dream, the smell of the kid we’ll never have and don’t miss cos you fullfilled me with achievement.
A melt of burned cigaret in your hand, scorching black coffee on your lip as i just turn my head and see you standing in the doorframe staring at me in silence. I smell the odor of your arms around me. I restart the vinyl.