The still water…your still water…
drowning… drowning… drowning,
and you are not here to save me from your silent resonance.
I am whispering something…two flapping curtains on your ears,
I am whispering smoke inside your purple moisture.
It’s still dark here…I know you have seen lights by now,
I know the mockingbird is up on your naked breasts by now.
And I am still swaying in the vision of you, getting out of your banal dresses and drowning inside perverted steam.
If there’s a ocean between us…then it must be in our attempt to get the wilderness through our eyes…
yours kohled and metaphysical,
mine crooked and red from unburned whiskey.
I know I am under this big brown spring…and I know I want transcendences from here,
the shadows of your falling clouds…the density of your stormy mane.

…………………………………………………………….

Photograph: Google.