these words.
some of them specific,
some only here,
but these words, I hear them
in a dream of mine.
I feel them
in the breeze
that blows my hair
over my eyes,
which I don't mind,
really, for I
live in the dark.
To be these words,
to be so wanted, desired
as to which these words speak...
And should you fly
to paradise,
should hands hold your soul
in their caring, gentle touch,
you would find your way
to the orchard
where the wind whispers promises
of dark nights
of precious caresses,
where the glint of the mirror,
and that too of the priceless stones
both tasting of the guilded fruit of passions,
blind even the blindest of loves.
And here the noose
would forever be slackended...
finally...
replaced with encircling convenants.
