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Better this, than the nights without number we cradled absurdly while seeking to cleave two lives breaking– I cream the sun I lead the stars I collect the moon and give it, effortlessly seduced, to your breasts. When farewells use too much air, I again visit Jupiter, obedient to cause, never questioning its effect. Sere planet filled with an odour of riot, take me into your perpetual dream – of an ancient wine the highest dance, the most civilised of illusions that which says I mattoid you maya we, upon this cliff, incredibly poised. |
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