Your reflection in the tram’s window. The elderly woman’s reaction to it. You’re into it again – your game of pretending to be a stricher, a guy being paid for sex by men; playing with people’s expectations when seeing your black skin displayed with my whiteness. I laugh – reality will set in when we’re back in Hamburg later this day, now it’s time for exchanging hidden gazes of open desire.
Six hours later we drag our, by rain-soaked, bodies into my flat. Climbing higher and higher. Where has time and space gone?
Your heat on my body. Bare feet, towel around my naked body. A friend standing at the door. Accusations. My voice. Was hast du…? Wrong direction, wrong words. Me believing him not you. Images entering my brain. Leaving my body unable to react. Your blood on the floor. Sirens.
Minutes turning into one … two … … three … … … hour … hours … … day … days … … whiteness poisons heart … was hast du denn gedacht? natürlich hat er sie vergewaltigt
The bruises on his face are gone when I see him again in this small visitors’ room in the prison. My heart has turned as black as the night, enfiltered with all lies about him and his
and before that night?
listening to him
seeing his problems
using his body
satisfying my needs