Fondu enchainé

Too Late
I know now
As your magnificent
Shadow
Is slowly fading away
In the night
Like the 'fondu enchaîné'
Of a film
The moment you're not here
Anymore
Nor there
The Sacred Loneliness
In Holy freedom
The imperfect
Knowledge of you
In Perfect desire
Leaving whispers
And silences
Signs and sighs
To be deciphered
Alone
In sensual silky silence
Wrapped up in leather thoughts
Brimming with lust
Alone
With the gypsies of the night

My world
Linked in a weird way
To yours

My world
A silent world
Lying naked
Close to
The shadows
Of your Dreams

Insolence

Your beauty
Is an insult
To the mirror
It has
No name
No right
No legacy

We'd wish it
To be kept
Into a dark
And secret place

It is
Magnificently
Blinding
And bold
A danger
Smothered
In a big affront
Reverberating itself
Into
Nothingness
Waiting for
The infinity
for Blossoming
Like a silent Bird
In spring

Time
Rushing
Sacrificially
Swallowing
The innocence
Of a greedy youth
On the altar
Of archaïc fears

The promise

Diving into
Your sensual
Darkness
I get
Closer to your
'Season In Hell'
Touching,
With the tip of my finger
The outlines
Of a luxurious Heaven
Floating
Like a dizzy sin
On my skin

Passion
Trapped between love
And despair
Clearly setting
The purpose
The material
The most appropriate
Colour
Unfolding
Its precious thick
Ribbon of pleasure
And pain

The dream
Storm-tossed
Between the Hell
Of an absence
And the sacrificial promise
Of a peerless
Heaven

We are

We are
Just

We just
Are

Together and apart

As strongly close
As we will never be

Beyond
Any expression
Or vocabulary

Floating among
The uselessness
Of words
Our
Non-beingness
To be found
In Sacred timeless
Silence
And soft, light
Breaths