dusty poetry

30. September
things that I wanted to say slipped away
future memories, so filigran, like Burano glass
broke away under my
shivering longing fingertips
hips, burning in lust and fire but oh so little time
imagination took a hold of me, oh well, that's fine
but seconds only last so long
the last song
I played
ironically it was, of course, little wing.
could I hold you, shake you,
fake you?
No way out of here
you have to watch out like a real capitan, stir,
the stirring wheel
straight ahead
ahead
ahead
where
the external
now is
where I belong, belong, I long.....so....
do you remember when we were in africa?