the peepbox


please scroll


memory to a former life, just a nostalgic memory. i miss. don’t want to go back. into my story.

beforehand – it could be, that everything i will tell will be without rhyme or reason, that i will destroy everything.

it could be that you will get carried away in my psychological conflict.

do you know an outcome?

the place

i wake up, a light beam falls through my window. my chamber, a square room, dark.


my dream, finger walking over hot skin. mistresses. hands on linen. my body disappears, wants more. something inside my vaporizes. without controlling, i felt in love with one of them. she came, made love and went away.

the voyeurs

they drift with their gazes. unperceived. eyes open blindness, tiny, small.

cross-eyed, smacking, left, right.

a blink. glances reaching for a sleeping one.

one of us has been in her.

he and she

i barely see you, facial hair sticks. heatness. i feel hot. i can see your breath, see how it condenses upon your upper lip and gutters in tiny pearls along your lips until it gathers at your chin to drip into the cavity between your collarbones. i want to go, but cann't. i am still sleeping.


he is a dark figure. without limbs, without mimic art. a hunch, a gap, he projects, chases.