theres nothing
I could or couldnt do
that wouldnt be
perfect
next to him

its so bright
and with everyone
in a combust mood
neither of us
can see in the
wind-obscured sunlight

its become a competition:
who will leave the other first

no words exchanged
but an intuitive mind knows
that its now or never
and that one
overpowers the other
in every way
embarrassingly

little ants
crawl
biting to remind me
"he wont talk first"
yet I enjoy the silence of waiting

I really couldn't just sit on a bench with him
without projecting rejection
and I had lost

I am much too alone in this world, yet not alone
    enough
to truly consecrate the hour.
I am much too small in this world, yet not small
    enough
to be to you just object and thing,
dark and smart.
I want my free will and want it accompanying
the path which leads to action;
and want during times that beg questions,
where something is up,
to be among those in the know,
or else be alone.

I want to mirror your image to its fullest perfection,
never be blind or too old
to uphold your weighty wavering reflection.
I want to unfold.
Nowhere I wish to stay crooked, bent;
for there I would be dishonest, untrue.
I want my conscience to be
true before you;
want to describe myself like a picture I observed
for a long time, one close up,
like a new word I learned and embraced,
like the everyday jug,
like my mother's face,
like a ship that carried me along
through the deadliest storm.