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{ 2007 08 02 }

Ohne Titel 9

Deprived of all my senses,
hence all the fences
around my outgoingness.
My heart thus beating less.
Less than when you’re around
when you’re inside of me.
No more feelings unbound
Fixation on the urge to flee
To flee from where? To flee whereto?
Flee to your loving arms; flee to you.

Posted by Benjamin Sturm on Donnerstag, August 2, 2007, at 17:33, and filed under Gedichte (en). Follow any responses to this post with its comments RSS feed. Both comments and trackbacks are currently closed.