I ride to Gendarmenmarkt, and stop, leaning on my bike in front of the Französischer Dom.

You are there, talking to a friend; I stay silent, just watching, petrified lest I break that instant.

But you see me, smile: la beauté du diable…

We stay for a few minutes, chatting.

An old man sells bubbles bottles to the children, the late Summer air is still warm.

You have been working at the library nearby, I am riveted to your eyes, your lips.

We say hello to the friend, and start riding towards Kreuzberg – you know the city so well now.

In your street, we have a couple of beers at the pub, just in front of your door.

Then we walk to Italo, pushing the bikes. We both like this place.

The young waitress has eyes only for you (I don’t blame her), and messes up the order. You say: good food, but lamentable service. We laugh.

I fear the end of the evening, but you have much to do still.

Finally we finish the wine, on the pavement we hug.

You ride away, waving.

I feel like death.