Today I write this letter to you
because you always complained
that I never sent you
love letters.
You said that I was cold,
that I was completely indifferent,
so you sought out a continent
where to give your warmth away.
Maybe your N.G.O.
could see
to resurrect
men who
are still alive.
The letters you don't send
are nothing but marked cards:
you get a hand
but never a heart.
My home is crying out
for a coat of paint
and some stitch
and a full stop.
And if you are in a country
in Central Africa,
look soon for a sorcerer
who teaches me to forget.
Love letters
when there's no love anymore.
Love letters,
but without an address.
My field hospital,
my good luck charm,
a firm barricade,
you were everything to me.
But there are things in life
that are much more real
than the eyes looking at them.
Tell me what I was to you.
Tell me what I was to you.
Tell me if you ever
loved me.
Love letters
when there's no love anymore.
Love letters,
but without an address.