lørdag den 3. december 2011


We never really considered the possibilities 
of the attic. After three months, after four drinks, 
we went up there. 
Treasures, left-overs of a life we
imagined into being. You, squeezing into 
a four year old's pink shorts, and you, 
wrapping up in a women's fur coat, 
you look like a russian hooker, and you two, 
let go of that vintage backpack before it breaks, 
and me, look at me, 
I'm Lolita, 
my breasts breaking out 
of a pale yellow school uniform. 
Does that satisfy our fantasies?

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