Snowflakes

We drank
all night
and then we
staggered towards the house
where
she lived.

The angel.

Beautiful blue eyes, long brown hair
great body.

She and her family had fled from a different country and now she lived
here.

We were both madly in love with her.

But we were very good friends, too.

And whoever made the first move on her would kill our
perfect friendship.

So we deepened our friendship by telling each other
how much we loved her.

We actually sat under her window reciting poems,
drinking whiskey from the bottle.

Snowflakes melting on our faces.

A light went on in the house.

We hid.

It went out again.

We climbed this little mountain behind the house where she lived
still spitting great tones of
world literature.

Kafka.

Brecht.

Benn.

We were poets.

We were drunks.

Absolute idiots.

Still are.

She' s the only one of my old flames I' ve never managed to track down.

She might have been just a
fantasy.