Shore

I dream of a house sometimes, Segovia plays And there are finches in a cage I meditate into the evening to the sound of cicadas You found my fine bones and made love to them There in halls that knew no ghostly coolness There was sound There were the echoes of our laughter from within our sensuality, then down the corridors And it wasn’t just touch, it was inward back from wandering waters of discontent towards a emotionally sensual shore Then silence, the cicadas and the less nocturnal all having gone into their rest