I have not spoken for a long time. Everything falls through me
Without a reaction, without leaving a trail. In the evening
My tongue is my clothes you pin to the balcony line.
The shirt which once embraced me, my socks
With their bite marks still visible around my ankles... empty
Like the missing footstep in the flutter of my pants.

I have not spoken for a long time, and together with my tongue
Love has moved away also. The name of your hands. 
Hands tracing the gleam on your brow,
Straightening the locks of your hair, removing 
A clothespin from your mouth and one more time pinning me down.
I hang in front of myself spread out as absence. 
You are the cloud whose glowing insides
Pass silently through clothes.