The kiss

Photo by Lukas Hartmann from Pexels

I’ve kissed someone else last night
somewhere at Tryggvagata
a taste of beer and smoke
the air around us a blurry mess

still I’ve foreseen it
my icy cold future
picking him up
shit-faced
out of control
at night
selling my body,
my soul
and eventually
he will kill me
in my sleep.

My silver necklace will be dark by then,
the roof will be leaking.
I’ve always known it
I’m not afraid.
It feels better to die
than to cry
in public.

And the stains on my face
are not as pure as your freckles
I miss the feeling of home
next to you
you, who is rootless.

And how much longer
will it take you
until you rescue us?
I’ll be waiting
at the airport.
For you.