"...therefore, whatever returns is good, not what passes and is done with." - Umberto Eco, Foucault's Pendulum
I swam against dunes
Just to
Simply to
Declare this immortal love
But hot, alkaline winds
Etched my beard away,
Leaving a whisper, perhaps a wisp
A breathless longing for your hips:
Solar eclipse!
Rough and foreign lips
Brushed against the tips
Of the memory of those delicious-red nips
I swam against tides
But to
Merely to
Exclaim this immortal love
But worthless souls
Staked worthless claims
On your past,-- not our own!
We were the lonely and alone--
My dry throat echoed your moan!
Then collapsed
Seasons lapsed
I knelt, aghast:
The bacterium that gnawed at solid bone
Mocking tone
That had made of my tenderest endearments igneous stone.
