Nix

The sun comes up and in the end
all decisions were only
justifications for what already
has been decided unconsciously.

On the bench in the clear light
of the morning sun, your hair
knotty, touched by sleep
becomes an untouchable halo.

My voice is uttering a lonely sigh
and when you're openening one eye
I realise you can not see it's only me
waiting for you in disguise

Schrijver: Stanislaus Jaworski, 23 juni 2003

stanislausjyahoo.com

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