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Is that you?
Is that you, who's saying my name?
Who's saying my name with passion on the sheets?
With passion on the sheets while I'm yours.
While I'm yours... you're touching me kindly,
I'm praying for more and more,
looking at your eyes, and you're kissing my neck softly.
Ah yeah, kissing all my body softly.
Then I kiss you back, I'm playing your game.
My neck is still warm of your kisses.

Is that you? I said.
Is that you who's touching me?
Is that you who's kissing me?
Is that you the man who has my life?
My life owns to you?
Who are you? I said.
Who are the tall man behind me?
Who are the man that kissed me?
Who are the man that treats me like a queen?
Who are you? I said.
Is that you?

And I answer to myself "No. There's nobody here"
I felt a kiss again,
and whisper to myself "Is that you my love? Is that you?”.
"Yes, it's me my queen" suddenly somebody answer.
"It's me and you're here with me".
Is this possible? I said,
Is the real you?
"Yes it's me. And you're real and so am I"
How can be this possible?
How is this real my King? I said
"Because you're dead my Queen" said He.
"My beautiful Queen is dead. Don't you remember my Queen?"
Nothing, my King. I said.
How it's happened?
"Sadness my Queen" said He.
Sadness? I claimed.
"You made improper things to yourself. You killed yourself my Queen" said He.
I really did that? I said.
"You really did that. And now you're here with me.
That's why you did it. All for your King"

I remember now. I pleaded.
I was sad because of your death.
But now I'm here, and We're together again, my King.
"That's right, my Queen. And it was always me… It was always me, that who kissed you and made you his woman.
It was me. It was always me.
And I'll be always yours and You'll be always mine.
Like We promised when we married.
Instead of death, in the underworld always will be the same votes.
I don’t care rules, I don’t care God, I care You.
Because you're my Queen, and I'm your King.
The votes will be the same, no matter death.
You are my Queen and I'm your King" said He.
And then we consecrated our love one more time.
The passion was the same.
He was my King,
and I was his Queen.
“kitty”. sixteen,5′ 11″,white,*******.

ducking always the touch of must and shall,
whose slippery body is Death’s littlest pal,

skilled in quick softness.  Unspontaneous.  cute,

the signal perfume of whose unrepute
focusses in the sweet slow animal
bottomless eyes importantly banal,

Kitty. a *****. Sixteen
                            you corking brute
amused from time to time by clever drolls
fearsomely who do keep their sunday flower.
The babybreasted broad “kitty” twice eight

—beer nothing,the lady’ll have a whiskey-sour—

whose least amazing smile is the most great
common divisor of unequal souls.
my mind is
a big hunk of irrevocable nothing which touch and
taste and smell and hearing and sight keep hitting and
chipping with sharp fatal tools
in an agony of sensual chisels i perform squirms of
chrome and execute strides of cobalt
nevertheless i
feel that i cleverly am being altered that i slightly am
becoming something a little different, in fact
Hereupon helpless i utter lilac shrieks and scarlet
it is funny, you will be dead some day.
By you the mouth hair eyes,and i mean
the unique and nervously obscene

need;it’s funny.  They will all be dead

knead of lustfulhunched deeplytoplay
lips and stare the gross fuzzy-pash
—dead—and the dark gold delicately smash….
grass,and the stars,of my shoulder in stead.

It is a funny,thing.  And you will be

and i and all the days and nights that matter
knocked by sun moon jabbed ****** with ecstasy
….tremble (not knowing how much better

than me will you like the rain’s face and

the rich improbable hands of the Wind)
walk the autumn long;
the last flower in whose hair,
they lips are cold with songs

for which is
first to wither,to pass?
shallowness of sunlight
falls,and cruelly,
across the grass
Comes the

love,walk the
love,for the last
flower in the hair withers;
thy hair is acold with
love thou art frail

—walk the longness of autumn
smile dustily to the people,
for winter
who crookedly care.
if i believe
in death be sure
of this
it is

because you have loved me,
moon and sunset
stars and flowers
gold crescendo and silver muting

of seatides
i trusted not,
                    one night
when in my fingers

drooped your shining body
when my heart
sang between your perfect

darkness and beauty of stars
was on my mouth petals danced
against my eyes
and down

the singing reaches of
my soul
the green-

greeting pale-
departing irrevocable
i knew thee death.

                              and when
i have offered up each fragrant
night,when all my days
shall have before a certain

face become
          from the ashes
thou wilt rise and thou
wilt come to her and brush

the mischief from her eyes and fold
mouth the new
flower with

thy unimaginable
wings,where dwells the breath
of all persisting stars
my love
thy hair is one kingdom
  the king whereof is darkness
thy forehead is a flight of flowers

thy head is a quick forest
  filled with sleeping birds
thy ******* are swarms of white bees
  upon the bough of thy body
thy body to me is April
in whose armpits is the approach of spring

thy thighs are white horses yoked to a chariot
  of kings
they are the striking of a good minstrel
between them is always a pleasant song

my love
thy head is a casket
  of the cool jewel of thy mind
the hair of thy head is one warrior
  innocent of defeat
thy hair upon thy shoulders is an army
  with victory and with trumpets

thy legs are the trees of dreaming
whose fruit is the very eatage of forgetfulness

thy lips are satraps in scarlet
  in whose kiss is the combinings of kings
thy wrists
are holy
  which are the keepers of the keys of thy blood
thy feet upon thy ankles are flowers in vases
  of silver

in thy beauty is the dilemma of flutes

  thy eyes are the betrayal
of bells comprehended through incense

— The End —