The Revolt of the Limbs

Of their own accord my hands move away from my body and come toward your hands, toward your arms, your face at night every night without my brain's command. Of their own accord I take your face between my hands my fingers over all the lines around your eyes wander go come, and caressing they swing the pendulum of seconds new seconds to the rhythm of your river in a new land without parting eternal. Without a command from my brain of their own accord my lips read the melody of the lines of your eyelids: on all the papillae of my tongue letter by letter blue words sprout and wash away the memory of the heavy words of my certainties clean, so clean. My glass my empty glass drinks, drinks only, only the beautiful melody of your water. Without a command from my brain my tears from the hidden depths of my eyes pour out and see your two trembling eyelids: two white butterfly wings on my black lashes... Of its own accord the wave of my gaze from me moves away, like my hand like my body like my heart, and I flying across borders, pass through all distances; I fall into your arms every night weeping... But that brain had issued no command except the command "cut off my ties with you"...