Guinevere and Lazarus,
hiking down the forest,
following the torrential rain.
A humble squirrel makes eye contact
initiates touch
love crumbs.
Days go by,
he can't stop thinking about the humble squirrel.
What did he give him?

Lazarus,
alone.
Bearing the torrential rain.
Minute by minute by minute,
searching for the squirrel of love.

A green mist clouds a lonely house on the hill.
Who better to inhabit it, than the love squirrel.
He's there, he's there, he's there.
He knew.

Closer and closer he came,
he heard tiny steps,
a scratch of wood.
He felt his gaze on him.
But where did it come from?

Lazarus' in all grey,
His sweatshirt sticking to his skin.
He glanced forward for a second
smoothing his hair back as rain dripped off,
down to his face.

Their eyes met.
Passionately.

Closer and closer they became,
the sound of le mal du pays resounded in Lazarus' heart.
Did he feel it too?
he wondered.

magnetic,
touch.
only music to fill the space between them.
Lasting only a second,
as he opened his eyes,
the grass where the squirrel stood to hug him
had left a shape.

Not knowing his name,
he went back home.
To Guinevere.