.
My dress, sheer as blood
Under light, falls so soft,
Your fingers, stone hard
And pointed as the sun,
Free me from cold body,
I loose as my dress, fallen
And my spirit, bare, fresh
As the lighted moon, quakes
Without sound.  

Touch me  .  .  .
My prince, rake my nudes
With tooth and lip, smell
My breaking waters living,
This spring is autumn, live,
Like a pool shudders in rain,
My skin kippering in cloud
And my *** unleashed from
Shroud, you, my man are all,
I wake in a garden full, ripen,
Of leaves and old embracings.
My springs, eternal sprouting
From a source, branch to earth
Spend me, my Lord, fire me up.
.

.
So afar and tall are you to me,
For you are from shining mountains,
Higher than the clouds, your brow,
Darker than the heavens, your hair.

So small and fey am I to you,
For I am but lone whisper in glens,
Slight as one firefly on the moors
And my reflection but a tiny glow.

    Only to spark at edge of pools dark,
    Only to fly when in harnessing arms.

I crossed a bridge to be with you,
The streams slipping times away,
Beneath my girlhood, all in a rush,
Then I entered the deepest wood.

So small and wan was I to you,
For you are from snowy mountains
And I am from rain-watery glens,
For you are portrait and I bokeh.

    One day the woods engulfed me strong,
    One night the bridge I crossed was gone.
.

.
When first I did see you,
My heart was a drum, beaten,
A fog horn blew out to sea.

When you looked at me,
Stark, true, across blue sky,
Sunshine piercing the clouds.

When you touched me,
Frost thawing at first light,
Misted dews on the heathers.

When you were upon me so,
Could I not but open, bloom,
Softly, wind on the petal.

When your hot eyes got me,
Set smoulder to stoked flame,
Aye, I burned for you.

.
in the whites of our eyes,
no language can interpret,
in the skins of lost bodies,
no soul can birth rich flesh,
in two hearts beating twined,
by all what blight moon shows.

i have walked alone as you,
creeping in avenues so alone,
i have made peace in sorrows,
that you share and i sure know,
we both stride with mists of rains,
white washed by what moon shows.

this world, cast for walking ghosts,
those who know but shadow speak,
avenues trod, unspoken indifferences,
spoke fingers that long for heated touch,
bodies crying need for moist engulfments,
beneath shroud, beams, what moon shows.
.

.
So afar and tall are you to me,
For you are from shining mountains,
Higher than the clouds, your brow,
Darker than the heavens, your hair.

So small and fey am I to you,
For I am but lone whisper in glens,
Slight as one firefly on the moors
And my reflection but a tiny glow.

    Only to spark at edge of pools dark,
    Only to fly when in harnessing arms.

I crossed a bridge to be with you,
The streams slipping times away,
Beneath my girlhood, all in a rush,
Then I entered the deepest wood.

So small and wan was I to you,
For you are from snowy mountains
And I am from rain-watery glens,
For you are portrait and I bokeh.

    One day the woods engulfed me strong,
    One night the bridge I crossed was gone.
.