Arcadia
Your body is like a brownish sheet of paper
may I crumple it?
may my fingers write on it?
I snuggle up to a sheet of paper
kissing you, though I desire to hate
I’d like your body to be a hotel
I could spend a week there
a five-star hotel in the city center
with windows looking out onto three Eiffel towers
I can’t take my eyes off them
All the roads lead to you
like my bleeding arteries
like the ageing veins in my legs
I caress you, pressing you tight to my chest
unable to hold back tears
May I crumple you? write on you?
journey to you every day? stay inside you?
you’re silent for a long time, eyes closed,
then you say: Hey, you, baby, let’s go
***
My apartment on Šopeno Street is cold
the ceiling is tall the windows are plastic
cuddled up to your lips
the electric heaters growl with grief
for it is cold still
When you kiss me
I try to imagine what love is
is it like a burning radiator
metallic passion
though our hands are still cold
After the third glass of heavy red wine
we’re a little warmer
we lie naked on the old sofa bed
dark blue sheets
your body hair keeps me warm
You like to be rough
gently slapping my buttocks
your hands are rough
from working in your parents’ garden
they scratch me like the branches of a naked maple tree
outside the window
When we heat up like an electric radiator
we shout obscenities
me in English you in Lithuanian
I still don’t know if this is love
or rather extraordinary sex
which I still miss like that Helsinki summer
***
I wanted to call myself a neon summer
that was to be the title of my novel
never-ending neon summer
I enjoy drinking yellow neon
I know it’s poison
but life is poison
I’m poisoned daily, as soon as I wake
getting up, with difficulty
hobbling to the bathroom
hobble hobble
I’ll brush my teeth with neon toothpaste
trying to recall
what I dreamed
only me, talking to myself
only you on the computer screen
your smile, your nails
painted neon red
have you injected neon into your veins?
have you taken neon vitamins
is your life brighter
after a neon coffee?
I don’t wait for answers
they’re like exhaustion first thing in the morning
like poison
getting poisoned first thing in the morning
trying to recall
your breathing
we get poisoned naked
soaking in neon
and the repetitive question
Fuck it do you love me
Fuck it do you love me
Fuck it do you love me
***
a day might end like
it has never ended
once twice three times
multiple endings
hard to guess
we lay in bed
looking at each other
I don’t know what you’re thinking
what you’re planning for tomorrow
it’s good that you’re not crying
the air swells with moisture
and I don’t have air conditioning
I don’t even have a fan
I brush the sweat from my forehead
I close my eyes because I know
I will not see you again
it’s one of the possible endings
kind of funny
as if I were standing at a traffic light
unable to decide
whether to move forward
or stand still and watch
as the traffic light turns into you
your red eyes light up
and I’m still standing here
***
I always remember the black plastic bags
the men cling to them as they walk the alley of love in Vingis Park
glancing sideways as I bike past
the “Gucci” bags laugh at me and at them
the alley of love in Vingis Park is like a worn-out plastic bag
expensive but mostly empty, a few condoms
a bottle of cheap brandy, water, toilet paper
when I bike in Vingis Park
the men in cheap suits pursue me
with their eyes, their lips part
as if to say stop, get off your bike
we’re starved for love, would you like a sip of brandy
I try to avoid meeting their eyes
I make a few circles, and return to the alley of love
two men with worn-out faces wave to me
smiling, one of them is missing a few teeth
the other one’s smoking with his legs elegantly crossed
when I bike to Vingis Park
I can still see the black plastic bags
flapping in the wind without the men in worn-out suits
and cheap faces, their ties are neatly folded
in the bags, waiting to return to their tired wives
