Em

gentle intruder – shy – but persistent

I‘m barely awake, caught up

in a state of not-knowing, not-thinking

the world does not exist – yet

your arm around my waist

is my first reality

I caress streets with my shoes alone

inhale thousands greetings

rooms buzzing with questions

rooms impatient for answers

usually they survive the paperstorm

and I return with green and blue scars on my hands

we sit

smell of coffee permeates the air

clashing with the tea leaves in your pots

quick words hang on your tongue

meant for other people and another day

your arm around my waist

is my first reality