Wet wool
Blackbirds singing, linden blooming and a nauseating reek of roses. I withdraw to the back of the chapel. I can neither face the fake sorrow of her family nor myself. […]
Author Archives: Björn Rudberg (brudberg)
Still life with milk
My privileges are all my own: a Speedo tracksuit with my feet tightly laced into leaden shoes. A mold to fit, a mask of skin too tight for comfort. I […]
Moonlack
Without its moon the night walks by forlorn and passes slowly on its drowsy lead-feet moaning ash-cloaked to the graveyard up above. Without its moon the night and I are […]
Favorite Perfume
The top-note when we met was an essence creamed from honeysuckle, it was from lavender and lily we fell and next we traded years of heart-notes whiffs of forest pines […]
Elemental passion
Earth When seeds awaken, gently from the warmth of spring, I’m cradled in your growth, in arms of verdant strength, from soil, from deep below your breath’s a symphony, the […]
