It were for what we seemed
our golden ages together
In which we unleashed time
as slaves of love, tightly bound
by winged words freely frolicking
along sharing the two paths of life
– the time when we as angels
still flew so much higher as our Lord
that we only with the Song of Songs
of our hubris on our lips
tempted fate by the barricades of heaven
and hell between us and storming
and breaking them down –
We tenderly shattered the days
and fluttering like a bee by the grace of God
, eating miles of butter horny desire
as if they were kilo bangers turned man-made
full of tenderness, we took all the time
to bathe ourselves in everything of value
without making the slightest mistake,
completely defenceless because the black beads
of all our nights were still rosaries to be prayed
in that unforgettable pastime
with which we made love without restraint
because the realization did not want to ripen
that we and the night itself were still far to young
to do as proscribed by our parents and their elders
and now the present time that we only know
without a word of explanation and forgive
simply by forgotten that in the pasture of our desire
after all, we were not for each other, the true lambs
in the slaughterhouse of live the golden ages
together in what we were made us no more than
credulous lies for the soap bubbles of a future,
nobody wants to share in our sickness of their hell
Ludo