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Poem	When you first came, quiet as the rain that never fell, in the sunlight that never shone, I whispered words I had never known and now shall never forget. These words have grown into secret songs. We have known, and loved, and shared what only lovers can share in lyric guilt. There can be nothing simpler than this love of ours, nothing truer when this darkness flowers. If only you could reach me, I would take me along with you. We would listen to the frenzied wings battering at the wind; we would watch the trees go down on their knees before the evening sunlight on the hills. And before my hands can memorise the braille of your beautiful movements, I shall assume whatever promise there is in silence and allow your slender body to wrap itself around me. Your eyes return my words more beautifully than the silence of rain. As the rains do not scar the dark hills, my body shall leave no trace on yours. When the wind and wild hawk meet, we shall celebrate our distances. Till then, do not ask me my name, nor the shipwrecked start, we always return to solitude: I know no longer where anything begins. Silence follows the footsteps of men. Tonight I draw your body to my lips: your hand, your mouth, your breasts, the small of your back. I draw blood to every secret nerve and gently kiss their tips, as you move under me, anchored to a rough sea. I cling to you, your music and your knees. I touch the secret vibes of your body, I fill my hands with the darkness of your hair. This passion alone can resurrect our love. I have travelled all the lonely highways in the autumn and watched all the lonesome cities pale at dust. I have held all those tired strangers in my
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