Soon the hypnotic mist is disturbed.
She slams my face into her pale bossom;
There her spirit creeps onto my skin,
I let it crowd me, I usher it toward me.
My eyes, my mouth.
Stained lips doused in liquor from a crystal decantor
have wise and foolish words drip and rush from them.
Their meaning obscured or ignored by many ears and faces.
She is quiet light; her eyes turbulent water spheres.
She is raging dark; the roof of her mouth fiery red.
She controls a captive roar.
To many she is on the other side of a sinful window;
To me she disturbs the very air and wraps it round her.
She and the moment are one by osmosis.
In times I am the moment too.
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