Almost Autumn

Butterflies fall, but are still alive, the wasps kill each other instead of me, I keep an eye on the sky and catch my minute in the sun, this years autumn seems so sure of itself, and the summer is not quite ready to give in, I find you outside in the beam between two glaringly white clouds.

Moving Boxes

I explain: it's not because I don't like the six wineglasses you gave me that Christmas, or because I don't appreciate a gift (sorry, I mean of course a gift from you), I appreciate every toast you proposed, all the good wine, we shared and poured into those glasses, it's just that I don't need glasses anymore. Please put them in your box and I'll put a little stone in mine.

Doors

I stand on tiptoe to kiss you, jacket is on, suitcase packed, your arm around my waist, you walk out of the door, it's just for a few days, I like few days, but I don't like doors. I don't even like to be precise about it.