the hotel bedsprings creak with
her free rhythm haiku – it is
morning it is night this weekend
in sofia thousands of people

are making love wearing out
the beds the floors the sheets
the sounds of lovers penetrate
thick walls like doof doof or

the ocean though not so soft
as that her voice grows with
tsunami passion wires da da –
oh now she has fallen off the

bed (i look across you’re asleep
sounds melt in theā€ metropolis