a puckery feeling joggles with my hand
the flutter of my heart won’t let me finish a single letter

from the door next to mine, on the same floor
you could hear the fiddles resounding

a furtive sigh from my flatmate
voiceless yell: ‘Cartouche’!

again, my thoughts keep running to strangers
- they’re stopped by “Goin’ to pub with Peter,
you go with us?”

with a slight hesitation my answer is
“No, thanks.. I got some geology left..”

and with numbness the friend says
“Your is the choise..bye!”

left alone in a two-room flat
skimmed milk surrounded with paperclips
spilled tea
and ‘nothing compares to you’ from Sinead

.. again, he came
exceptional, odd
as always

with a weird smile “i heard you are a mountain-climber” he says
“what is a ‘diapir’?” i try to catch him unawares
i seem to pose a little bit too much self-assured

a volant glimpse on the glass filling of the bookshelf betrays me
- i am not sure with a single word i let out

we are standing there facing each other as if we were five years old
with the same doubt and silence
we watch each other

the fiddle sound subsided, as if purposely

“i must appologize..”
i keep watching his eyes
“i am quite wacky..”
he only said ‘no’ with his look

gosh.. what colour are his eyes..? blue, i think..
“how about some tea?”
i pretend to look smart..
“no, i only wanted to ask—or.. yes..please..”

seems like i am not the only one confused in here..