2000-08-00 Z040
A certain flower grows,
and blossoms every hour in my dreaming.
And in the throes of darkness I behold you,
gleaming and transforming,
and I hold you in my hands like water,
streaming through my fingers,
soaring, storming through my veins.
Never groping for what ought not to be
tamed by mortal man.
Then I slept beneath your skin,
and ran far away from worlds of
human binding.
I'm finding in your absence empty days
of endless hours of empty thoughts
and endless sorrows,
and the morrow gives no hint of rain.
The sun – so destitute of heat –
seems resolute to see me fall
forever into sleep.