and I picture people in their beds

asleep

waking up 'cause they can hear me through their windows

on the street

talking to you

invisible

reading you this poem that's not written yet

it's raining

I'm walking

fast

'cause the words

are slipping away down the road

and I don't want to miss a thing

so I walk

fast.

you looked at me

in the middle of that weird crowd

with your transparent eyes

and I thought:

"you are the most real person in this place

in this town"

you could get cancer out of this shitty music

out of this fake scene

so you need more cigarettes.

we went outside

and we watched

in silence

with our matching hats

and we thought of new lines to answer to those stupid questions.

you are from South Africa

I'm from Russia

and we don't care about the world

or we care too much

or enough

to be in love

with this fake scene

and these fake people

but the girl who sang

her face was covered in glitter

she was beautiful

and both of us

we made her night

we told the truth

we just needed to

she was too beautiful

and we both love Kerouac

we don't know him, but we know him

-yes

you said

and we didn't have to say anything else

we just stayed there

watching the rain

cause we said everything.

we have East London

and our freedom.

I remember your hair moving like crazy

you left your hat on the floor and just shook your hair

I hope your ex was watching

cause everybody else saw how gorgeous you are

and I would have kissed you

my gypsy baby

because of your true blue eyes

and the way you don't fake it

you have no clue how to fake it

and you know?

you love The Velvet Underground

and we'll go to New York together

you'll write urgent poems on the streets of New York

and I will take  virtual pictures in my head

of your hands shaking desperately

to catch those poems from the tail.

I would have kissed you

because

you know?

I must feel some of that life running from your lips when you talk

and through your cheeks when you blush

because of the way you stare at me

and the way you confessed you cry so much sometimes out of passion.