My Sweet Visitor


Dragan Bibin “Deimos”

The shadow at the bottom of the stairs

the silence that answers when you call out  ‘who is there’

the kiss that is delivered with the same firm lips, always placed in the same exact

spot on mouths caught unaware

you smell like burnt sugar

and apples rotting in a fruit bowl visited by flies.


I know your face

I know your name

I don’t know what color your eyes are

why doesn’t it matter, I sometimes wonder

that I don’t know what your are

or why I don’t seem to care.

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