The things that drift to one's mind
And kiss to evade being kissed...
We were lost in our separate worlds,
But veered clear of a middle where we may have disappeared.
I had the word and she had what the word meant.
We weaved around a closeness
We were actually escaping from
And brushing up again against...
The edges of balance...the mortal tender straw...
The inflamer and container of illusion
Dangerous like a funnel together
But going each way alone,
Nosing toward the place where we can leave parts of our soul
Like dew in deposit cans
To be carried away and drunk by nymphs in another room
And finally to grow into a message
Now floating in the waverings of hell-fire eyes
Tickling
Against the whiskers
Of irresistion...
The last outpost of falsity before the final truth.
