bodies clashing like meteors,
tortured by the looks of…,
and then we were swept,
under the rug of conformity,
to never see, be or touch again,
like a Son who never returns,
wiggling words of comfort…,
to someone like you…,
Who?…, said the owl -
its wings (the Universe of knowing),
and we sang…,
like an italian troubadour,
when you (unclothed) released…,
your mountains of pure white stone,
halting all words, all thought,
Once more unto the breach,
said you - the Queen of Hearts,
like a fly on a painted wall,
then ready to silently fall,
as Autumn leaves…,
the front porch,
like wasted moments,
then excitedly hurrying…,
to be silent again.
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