We make love with the light turned off
below the surface
in the deep sea - so far down
that no sunlight reaches in
At this point the day is no more
.
We are poised at the earth's axis
The hours are flowing
back and forth
like the bubble in a spirit level
Dead men climb the church walls
with fingers like tentacles
In November
we dress ourself in dark-skinned coats
merged with our head
And from both mouth and nostrils
our breath pour out
as white smoke in the cold air
.
Nov 11, 2014
Nov 11, 2014 at 7:16 PM UTC
We make love with the light turned off
below the surface
in the deep sea - so far down
that no sunlight reaches in
At this point the day is no more
.
We are poised at the earth's axis
The hours are flowing
back and forth
like the bubble in a spirit level
Dead men climb the church walls
with fingers like tentacles
In November
we dress ourself in dark-skinned coats
merged with our head
And from both mouth and nostrils
our breath pour out
as white smoke in the cold air
.
