Libido Sound

Near the fairest light of the autumn, examining Our wedding of keepsake photos book, we echoed the souls On each pose when it was taken in Morningside Height Back to 1969s. In pursuit from the side of the St. Church Crystal's wall, New York was a Paradise! The smiles Melted away by a lotus ritual-promises seeing All as the blue dots of the heaven sky. We were happy back there. Having Our wetted eyes preaching perfectly on lines, From the whiten dress and the sailing Hands mine, In black and tie walking along Harlem's blue! Turning around, the bridled group; With its ordinary and gossip smiles Across their faces. From the one Hundred minutes, Priest Toms told us All sickness and glows would be gone. Worldly all had passed by. The cloudless sky, The long, long spring day has started To shadow off. And we see on each thing, Our moon-mind peaks dark! I was a jazz singer that time. It's that each time we see these photos Before our eyes the matured smile Is just a hanging dream. How the savor years, the white branches Of ideas and words, could possible Have accumulated too many springs ahead? Begin to hang down our energy, scattering Here and there, which runs completely Out of sight. And now, it inlaid within a bitter Eyebrow. Without the moist moonlight On how it has begun. Having seen the photos at least For a few minutes or so, we behold the new panorama. Nothing fallen off into the thick And dark spring. Because oh yes! Because we are already there.