On the white screen dance the stringed dots
Mind spilled codes of hieroglyphic thoughts
Slowly they emerge handholding lines
Not always yielding intended designs.
Something was brewing inside the head
Coaxing to weave and take it ahead
The drunken horses so wildly gallop
There is no leash to make them stop.
Nerves are taut and they won't relax
Till all is vented they reach the ******
It was thus fated the moment it was sown
What's to be grown could never be known.
As the fever wanes arrives the new child
It may be adored or it may be defiled
The canvas is washed clean as in the rain
Something is brewing to be vented again.

Are you looking at the curve
below my navel, do you want
to expose me there?

... You're reserved
... and won't come any closer
... to my breath, my question

Is something burning inside you
is it blazing, is it smouldering
or should I light it?

... I don't smell you, no scent
... that excites a woman
... in her belly, in her heart

Don't you know what you want
with me, after today?
Can't you be honest

with yourself
and live relaxed
according to your ideals?