Maybe only slowly, can someone
come nearer, and closer, in thought,
where he might be a sliver
of painted visions on a glass
ceiling. Somehow, as thinking fades
and the colours take precedence. Blue
purple hues, taking place on the
pink of a lovely sight or thought. He felt he
needed to trample what I have come
to, shatter this illusion of a
benevolence. He cracked my gauges,
took the defenses right away. As my
last stroke failed, a broken lance of the
first. Silently he cuffed away his iciness, pursuing me
with a granite effortlessness. Then the impermeable
onyx kissed my mouth and went away.
© 2006