road to lullaby...

Traffic Jam..

…He spent days and nights licking his own lips, tasting the fading pleasure of her dust. Resurrecting desires and plans out of the deepest and sultriest mind wells.
…She was always there. At the same park. Among the Acer’s branches, tearing decency to little pieces of melting lust.
…Contacting each other by breathing in- breathing out cigarette fumes for goodnight…
After a while lungs were filled with sweet whipping sounds and goodnight became a salty clearance.

She was a fairy. He was a carpenter. His life was to work on dead wood. She lived in woods when they used to be alive. Jammed obstacles building a wall.
A long and trackless detour or a hitch-hike back to the night before tasting?

Why didn’t they live in a dream theatre, where his conscious would fight with his instincts and her weakness would dry her wings while her skin would get softer?
At least they would have left their mark on poetry’s tree. Her wings shaped on its bole by his fingernails.
Babel swallowed one more agony, digested it and offered one more fast lane leading to the traffic jam…