A mile in my shoes
Disgust… I see it in your eyes. How you cannot meet my gaze, your lips — a thin line. your white knuckles. Is it because my accent tells you that […]
Author Archives: Björn Rudberg (brudberg)
Never the flowers
It was never the fragrance of flowers but the bullies and the browning of leaves, decay from the odor of urine and sweat; smothered in wetness of wool — I […]
Not vanilla foreplay
Moonlight spilling silver on your double poster bed revealing ivory of your white shoulders under delicate lace and pale linen. Your soft hair is parted to reveal a tantalizing nape, […]
Spoons and brooms
Outside the supermarket the same beggar sits in the same place every day, He peddles wooden spoons and brooms, but I never buy anything. I wonder how this life can […]
Ashes
Now it’s ashes, kept: burned your letters afterwards — your essence, attar, frankincense — left in the hollow of my pillow, a single strand of hair. I fell asleep with […]
Björn Rudbergs writings 