Everyone knows the book about the king
his power, the counsellors and the grand
palace with all its inner gardens

full of wonderfully scented flowers
but I describe what I have learned
from experienced men, Horsehead

and Goldnavel, about pleasures
in the dark, behind the corners
where shadows cast secrets

of concealed doors to the corridors
through the silent basement maze
where desires are fulfilled

by round beds and soft
women who cover you with sun -
their backs wave and groan

as my nails write immortality
in their skin and their breath
hops like a hare or sighs

like a crescent moon with hairs
that rustle when they lie down
in the wake of my hand

I just let other people
work and rather feast
upon love, night and day

I'm not like a mermaid
such a girl without buttocks

waiting on her tail
who might want her

I let your hands model
thighs out of my muscles

with which we make love together
like wild mountain rivers

I feel the flow of my cells
take a picture of me, now
it seems I’m dissolving

in eternal atoms
and loving chaos

Now and then it happens
unexpectedly
that someone smells like you
looks and laughs like you

suddenly begins to dance
just like you
or, out of the blue
says words you once said

At a reception in a large building
I see a man talking to a woman
and yes, I long for you
because of him, his constitution

Hey, don't you remember me?
Come on! he laughs jovially
It's him, and not, I know him
differently, cooler, more special

We start a neutral talk
in search of a goal
that is empty
not defended or too late

we play by feeling
neither of us is free
we fail to come closer
in public and to match again

At the night-lamp, I read you
in my agendas, I stroke the blanket
over your body and lie

awake between the sheets
on the hard question what
more should I have

not done but been
today? I listen
to you and the world

of footsteps, a door
the flush of the toilet
at the neighbours and the silence

of doing nothing next to the turmoil
in your bowels, drizzly
was the day, but

with siskins and sips
of ristretto, with your shoulder
leaned against mine

How often have we done that?

You are so soft and delicate
your skin in my hand
your full light weight
your warm longing

for the ecstasy of when
your bronze body
was immortal in Verona
and I, kneeling for you

between your legs, dissolved
in love. Slowly
after the fast moving
my hands stroked the scent

smoothly out over you and defenceless
I lay down next to you
on the bed in the quiet room
in the centre of the city

with the angular merlons
The evening brings coolness
while I'm looking at you
looking at you

The rising water is unstoppable
no matter how often it breaks
into wide waves on the beach
The sun is half an hour

above the horizon, hand in hand
we walk in blowing clothes
into our evening off
My hair dances

In the boat at the end
of the pier we kiss
like teenagers, the water sloshes
and the sky turns orange

With my own eyes I see
the sun set, tack-sharp
and I can only think
that the earth ends there

as a worldwide disk
with an edge, an abyss
in which the red-hot sun
briefly blazes up the fire

In the evening, the river is a theatre
the water carries the music
to our ears, the romance

of a saxophone, sunset
twinkling in the wine and the church
rosy, completely gentle grace

Tourists pretend click clack
that not they, but we, are the extras
and the city were a cardboard set:

theme park Paris l'amour
young people on the quays around
a pillar candle and kissing

couples as it should be
in the sunthrowers of the tourist vessels
gleam the spots in the corners

that you can smell

Great-great-grand does sound old
but he was younger than you

fifteen years, the toughest
boy in the street

and I used to be the prettiest
the happiest too: a girl

born on my birthday
We were fine

with the money from Dutch John
the sweet boarder, my lover

when tough Louis left leaving
only his name for our little

Francis, your great-grand
dead as well

when your time began

Love is a tree full
of hearts in love
to live in

and to sing together there
to sing together forever
even if it is not yet so

and you are in bed, lazy
     spun in yourself
     being who you are

and to be or not to be
     happy together
     is no question

because you are warm
and the world is turning
with the tree full of hearts

and there is no one
who can stop that

Sheets up to my knees
not for my own desires
would I wake up
the man who wants me

So I just grope him
in mind, letting one thing lead
to another and drift away
in the delight of sleep

Getting up in a new life:
how did you end up next to me
after all those evenings of feeling
with myself how you would feel

who I am?
my love open
to passion and eyes
that see me

Dear friend, feel
my soft belly for
the man who didn't come

and carry me
I am lighter now
thinner are my dreams

you do know it
time passes, kiss me
knead my supple skin

and carry me
through the void of the night
give me farewell

On a summer evening the smith
a strong young man, walks with
the nicest girl, just for a stroll

     Walkie walkie, don't need a pub

Walking together, without a goal
making a trip through their dreams
and talking about their lives as teens

     Talkie talkie, please open up

Then, when the darkness recedes
they hide themselves in the reeds
and make a bed of canes in the dew

     Beddie beddie, heaven above

Lie down easily, no one can see you
It is warm, take off your clothes
to enjoy the sweets from lips to toes

     Sweetie sweetie, lovelylove

Panting like a doggie he scents
and licks the beauty she presents
to his mouth, and all her body glows

     Doggie doggie, please come in

Purring she turns around and shows
her passion, stewed and waiting
with four paws wide and baiting

     Pussy pussy, munch my skin

On a spring afternoon the smith
a sweet young man, walks with
the girl, she's the bride, he the groom

     Baby baby, lovelylove

because their baby is coming soon

Black sails, thunderclouds
flooding all the shores
all the shores of love

               Attica (Aegeus and Theseus)

Everlasting love
from parents to their child
unconditional and true

But fate is ignorant
and joy makes one forget
the preconcerted sign

Black sails, thunderclouds
crying for our son who died
Is my life worth living now?

Behind the clouds, the sun shines
the hereafter beckons me: come
perpetuate your bond

               Brittany (Tristan and Isolde)

Everlasting love
the poison innocence drinks
compells the soul to love

Jealousy can be a tonic too
even white hands can lie
when it comes to love

Black sails, thunderclouds
crying for my love who died
Is my life worth living now?

Trees grow out of the graves
and their branches intertwine
inseparable is their bond

What we do in the bushes
just have a look, if you are passing by
we deny everything you think

we kindle a blazing fire
foot by foot, hand by hand
what the spinner indicates

one step on my blue pants
one hand on the yellow sand
the delay is exciting

like the first time, now the other
hand on the green grass
one leg on the red bag

until I fall over and his skin
intercepts the horny biting flies
for me, just look

I disappear in his fire
I melt, I singe, I tremble
I'm the bride again

Where the daily rush of life
falls to a standstill and I see someone
turning inward, everything stops

immediately I too fall
into a standstill, I no longer have any plans
not even a body

I am no longer on my way
I am just the softly vibrating
energy called love

connected with the face
I see, so beautifully
balanced with life

People, I love you
a life with you
goes through me

until you move, the world
turns again and I am there
in the daily rush of life

It was a nice day
out together, home together
as every day
should be like

The table nicely set
each other's eyes caught
everything at its best
strained and temporised

After showering
I stand in the bedroom
in front of my closet
without sexy clothes

Nothing to wear
to seduce you
on the clean sheets
romantically like women

surrender from the bottom
of their hearts to a man
hoping he is willing
to do the same

It is getting dark, we walk
away from the couples, who, just like us
have not seen the sun go down

The picnic baskets are empty
You pack up the peels and I
pretend to look past you and you

pretend I don't attract
your attention, knowing that
our skin is glowing for more
You are smoothly sculpted
like a Greek god

I brush through your hair
The sea moans under the rocks
Our room is still far away

but I can imagine you
hanging out nicely, kneadable
in the grip of my hand

Mummy is bad
she doesn't look
at my painting
she hides her eye

behind the camera
and in her mind she makes
her own painting
of me

another Helena of me
with blood on her hands
an angry Lolita
with a cool belly

for hot men
a Confident-Blue
belly despite the voyeurs
at mummy's exhibition

who think they see me
while they fantasise
about a fille fatale
pleasing them

Books and photos on paper
are a fine way of preserving
and keeping my life complete -

who I have become
from my youth up, memories
of my family, images

of their presence
their activities and the places
that belong to it, all together

a constantly growing mountain
with hair-thin dendrites:
the mountain of my life

The people who nodded
yes, that's you, those cheeks
that smiling face

in my baby photo album
those people are dead, and I
don't know anything about it

I remember the signboards
the superscriptions that I wanted to read
my eyes took pictures

that nobody else will ever see

the locks of hair on the slippery tiles
at the barber in Hesperen Street
tapping lotion into my skin

the two chestnut trees in the yard
of the kindergarten and the children
who want to sail across in the playtime

the marvel of the beechnuts
swirling down in the Wedding Avenue
(funny that there is no church there)

Handfuls of nuts I took with me
my memory has pictures of it
which I will not forget