Trust is a torment. This torment is my joy.
I hear a cry, cup my hands around it
not to lose one single drop.
There’s a part of you in the darkness
that shall never appear.
I dare embrace. You will remain,
you don’t need to say more.
Come kiss me, my mouth is made
of night and silk —
I carry your darkness in my hands
as a bowl of fresh milk.

Advertisements