And in this eternal dance,
Through gardens delirious I wander,
thinking forward, slipping in,
running water mixed with sin.
Slowly I loose my sight,
In the greenery within,
Those tendril thoughts now winding,
To satisfy my longing.
Could it be here then,
That the clay of my being begins?

In a quivering of lips
While our eyes converse
distance closing
until nothing was there
but a shaft of sunlight  
in the scent of your hair.

Silence now,
subtle shock of your words
lying lose on an indifferent floor
sweeping slowly, I scatter them,
through the light of the open door,
Floating whispers in the breeze.  

And no more.

I see the spirits gathered at my side,
Speaking their oblivion tongues,
Grieving for my flesh so fine,
Who next shall they long for?
Death-rattles in my hall.

Your hot blood whispers,
scented secrets in the spring,
whispers of you, whisper to me.
Beneath the jealous moon,
dance naked within my dreams,
while the whole world sleeps,
softly snoring on whispered wings.
But still, your lips are sun-kissed,
Be still all moments now missed,
And out of the jealous moon,
drifts silver-lined laughter,
I see your smile, I feel the wonder,
The breath of your whispers,
exciting my skin,
Always those whispers,
I listen in.…

What dew on the petal,
Who’s moisture before,
Found solace in my uncertain plight?
She of soft flesh,
Her black and white sense,
Will I see her again,
In the stars of the night?
Ideas do drown in spasms of light,
Where poems lay down to die,
But I,
I am slight,
One with, but apart from the night.