Home

Your home I am! And you return to your own home. Like the night-scented stock that returns to the arms of night and scatters its breaths into the empty air. Wandering moments return, drink from my dream and the lamp of dew on my black lashes they light. Is it hard to be kind? But not when my body is your only home, and you, only, only, a kiss are. A kiss and a bright gaze and a moist tongue on my lips... You, only, only, are a hand whose caresses step by step build my ascent above all darkness; the only bright point on the page of existence. You are caress: I alone – without your caresses – am an exile – an exile – in the wasteland in the farce of a meaningless creation. Is it hard to be kind? But not when only here "you" are and << I >> on the earth of creation. Your kisses come to my body and then only then grandeur in creation wells up, shines on the rind of the watermelon on the block of ice and salt... Then only then the tiniest particle, on the earth, will be the lofty seat of the glory of being; only then the presence of all impossible kindnesses in a drop of dew will become possible: only then when my lips slide over your lips, and my gaze sees the beating of your heart, beneath the heavy armor that now, in vain, covers your body...