It pains me quite a lot
remembering you as you’ve made yourself dismembered.
Not gray and impotent
but red and superficial
as if scared, scorched by your fear
and growing new skin,
somewhat fishy atmosphere,
an aquarium of a room,
silence coming down in scales
and me coming up from the depths
to break the surface,
asking questions,
asking for a smile,
getting an askew one.
You told me, I don’t know you yet,
you’ll make me unhappy,
But do I now,
When you did?
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