Art by Franz von Matsch

Crank Crank Goes The Fan

Not too many people around;
not a sound
when I think of you.

The whirling fan rotates
for hours of the midnight – straight
while I gaze at your reflection
in the frequently visited corner
of my mind.

To speak of the heart:
a beating device;
pump-pump is the sound
and round
is the shape
of your earrings.

my heart;
a melancholic tune,
I suppose
when you pass by;

on the road,
the motors whistle by too.
They do not stop,
neither do you.

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