Because the way you look framed by natural light is so Scandinavian. You
rugged bicycle careening downhill like lava. Fava beans
taste good when we lie in the MALM bed. Sometimes, we're naked in Stockholm.
In your brick arms, on the LUDDE sheepskin rug
next to the meat balls
and behind the lingonberries.  In the basement, you
banal object, among the old lightbulbs start
exiting the store.  Start walking closer to Stockholm, now, and
then, I get a little bit sad when I think of car wrecks. Broken
glass, shards, tires sliced and how I wanted to wreck your car in the parking lot of Ikea.
fingertraps in a mailbox. Two junkies, one kimono. Air that tastes
air-free. A metallic aftertaste to a kiss.