The confession

He sits with his feet outstretched on the carpet

His lover eyes him, lounging on the sofa in front of him.

 

The ecstasy of looking at the red lips overtakes him as he gazes in the shade of the living room.

The red cheeks rise as the lips move.

He says that he opens up to him

 

The confession kills the lover

His soul wriggles in pain

 

He wishes that he’d have whispered to him such a truth

While sleeping beside him in bed

His hand caressing his child, soap-smelling skin

His voice so deep and airy into his ears

With his eyes closed and his breath, eddying over his face.

 

Wishes did nothing but killed the remaining part alive