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