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The Nowhere Man


Come, let us pretend this is a ritual. This hand
in your hair, your tongue seeking mine: this
cataclysmic despair. Let us pretend tonight that
you are mine. Forever. For when daybreak returns, we
shall realise once more that forever means an
empty room, a tired night swirling into nowhere,
when I shore up to your tattered skyline.


At midnight I move in on strangers, for the caress
or the kill. I have come to terms with shadows,
I have been assaulted by gentler lovetimes: once
in a long while a face comes near, our eyes meet
in challenge, or is it love? Our bodies come alive
in secret oneness: one spring ago, terrified to be
touched, you draw me tonight, at last, deep within
your frantic countryside.


The wind disentangles itself from your frenzied body as
hurricanes of dreams follow me: eternity is only a
river reaching towards the sea. My tongue travels to
your navel, and downwards: I cling to your body, my
mouth breathes in the shadow of your breath. Someday
perhaps the sea will reveal itself, the delirium of
the flesh fatigue at dawn.


It hurts to say I am sorry. So let us use unfamiliar words.
The summer has gone the ground's turned cold. The old
road calls me back again. Anothertime we shall meet again:
as strangers or as friends, or perhaps as lovers once
again. Now turn, turn, to the rain again.


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.

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