Multo magis

There is something out there,

a wind of the external,

smooth feeling, le corps,

then it stopped…,

amped up again and again,

and again,

till the morning dropped

its heavy load of rain,

petrichor stinging the nostrils,

touching the part of my brain

where I put you,

the Memory,

consciously undetected,

by the Wild and Misleading,

your Lovecraftian horror,

my cosmic friend,

soul of my soul,

being of my being,

a Lovers day…,

well of subdue,

then nothing else,

a Space - trivial,

without any meaning,

child learning to write,

to read lips,

to touch, to kiss them,

and finally acknowledge,

so much more,

that’s who we Be.