as a rose to you
longing like me
The paper leaps up
ready for the next slice
I maintain
there is nothing of penance in this
that I'm not just up for anything
What is written will avenge itself
will grow smaller and smaller
a trivial stain in the end to our eyes
Hahaha
the night of the knives
more than small lies
take care of the dreams
white beasts may have:
Trembly impossible longing
lacerated beauty
the kind we see in one another
breath icing-up on its way away
it can just as well be
in this night of tales
- Lene Henningsen
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