A story of a Berghain bathroom.
Like an empty cloakroom
Your eyes were big and black.
If I looked into them for long enough,
I could see the face of Gods.
You would lift your head up, softly –
As if the sun was in your way.
Your eyelids would slip down.
I brought you water.
Your lips would dance to a tuneless song
My heart would beat to it too –
I could taste bile
On the tip of my tongue.
Strangers holding hands,
Bathroom walls growing wider;
‘Smile so I know you’re still with me’
I would think,
And raise my arms above my head.
I could see purple everywhere.