NACHTGEDICHTE: DIE MIEZE

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mieze3

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NACHTGEDICHTE:

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DIE MIEZE

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moon3

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Spät in der Nacht

liegst du bei mir im Bett,

und ich höre zu, wie du atmest.

Ich schaue auf deinen Rücken

und denke daran, wie sehr

ich deine blauen Augen und

dein Lächeln mag, und daran,

ob es dich überhaupt wirklich gibt.

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Zweisamkeit kann süchtig machen,

wenn man die Einsamkeit erst mal

verlernt hat.

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Und wenn du fort bist, fühle ich dich so,

als seien wir noch immer eins.

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moon2

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DIE LIEBESGEDICHTE DES CHARLES BUKOWSKI (TEIL 2): RAW WITH LOVE

bukk00000000

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DIE LIEBESGEDICHTE DES

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CHARLES BUKOWSKI

(TEIL 2)

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RAW WITH LOVE

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 buk 28

 

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Little dark girl

kind eyes

when it comes time to

use the knife

I won’t flinch and

I won’t blame

you,

as I drive along the shore alone

as the palms wave,

the ugly heavy palms,

as the living does not arrive

as the dead do not leave,

I won’t blame you,

instead

I will remember the kisses

our lips raw with love

and how you gave me

everything you had

and how I

offered you what was left of

me,

and I will remember your small room

the feel of you

the light in the window

your records

your books

our morning coffee

our noons our nights

our bodies spilled together

sleeping

the tiny flowing currents

immediate and forever

your leg my leg

your arm my arm

your smile and the warmth

of you

who made me laugh

again.

Little dark girl with kind eyes

you have no

knife. The knife is

mine and I won’t use it

yet.

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buk 5

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DIE LIEBESGEDICHTE DES CHARLES BUKOWSKI (TEIL 1): LAYOVER

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buk0

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DIE LIEBESGEDICHTE DES

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CHARLES BUKOWSKI

(TEIL 1)

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LAYOVER

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Making love in the sun, in the morning sun
in a hotel room
above the alley
where poor men poke for bottles;
making love in the sun
making love by a carpet redder than our blood,
making love while the boys sell headlines
and Cadillacs,
making love by a photograph of Paris
and an open pack of Chesterfields,
making love while other men – poor fools –
work.

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That moment – to this …
may be years in the way they measure,
but it’s only one sentence back in my mind –
there are so many days
when living stops and pulls up and sits
and waits like a train on the rails.
I pass the hotel at 8
and at 5; there are cats in the alleys
and bottles and bums,
and I look up at the window and think,
I no longer know where you are,
and I walk on and wonder where
the living goes
when it stops.

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buk 5

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