Falling paper pieces

When it happens the first time, it soars
but it’s happened before
this feeling of synchrony
as we smiled and rode on by
but this time it was a bit different
making it a first time, again
it was the calmness
the quietness
the substance
that leaves you guessing
as we split paths
and think about each other for days
it’s like a white dove that’s set free;
it soars into the white clouds
when you wake up; it’s in a white dream
it’s like that when I look at the white skies
and feel the soft white falling paper pieces
rest on my summer skin;
remnants of you
will I ever find you again?
… yes


I open the door and there you are
in the center of what feels like a spaceship
the door’s creaky and it’s quiet outside
and it feels like this place is in motion with it’s constant fanning
and somewhat emptiness
isn’t it strange how it came to be?
It’s sort of a pathetic miracle indeed
finding things that tempt your heart in the least concerning of places
you glance at me
your eyes peel to my direction
wherever I go
… I didn’t know I’d respond similarly
leaning on the central counter by your side
having a quick chat about nothing
finding more meaning in the silences
and the few words that get to the point
like into your pants
not used to this type of attention
probably a thirtieth one for you
each one nonetheless more real
like a bountiful of me and a bountiful of you
just hot baked goods in love
on the sidelines
with a slit dress