you said is
there anything which
is dead or alive more beautiful
than my body, to have in your fingers
(trembling ever so little)?
Looking into
your eyes Nothing, i said, except the
air of spring smelling of never and forever
through the lattice which moved as
if a hand is touched by a
hand (which
moved as though
fingers touch a girl's
breast,
lightly)
Do you believe in always, the wind
said to the rain
I am too busy with
my flowers to believe, the rain answered