I have not dreamed of you in a while,

The chrysanthemums have become pale,

and snails lie soft and coiled within their shell.

I have headaches ripened from vicious circle of vile thoughts,

the bathtub is full of lemony hot water,

And I vacillate in and out from it.

Your soldierly perfume hits me in the jaw,

my gut rises and falls like the Third Reich,

Over and during my existence.

In my dreams, I still wait for you at the arrival lounge,

on a frosty winter’s day after your zero hour plans.

I dance in the interim between work and dinner,

and move like insipid mom in her seventies.

I leave the electrical switches on forgetfully,

and hear your husky baritone.