There,heaven born,do you see kind sir?
Whispering her song,shy and removed
Embracing still all that surrounds her
No divides here,between the fine and the crude.
There,we may speak and be heard
By her alone if that may be
She stops and listens to even that one bird
That desires to be truly free.

She peers into your soul as she passes you by
Her beaten hair dancing in mock distress
Like the dark strokes of a calligrapher against the sky
Asleep or dreaming?is it sir,that i find this princess.
The critic unmoved,shrugs and departs beyond the mountain crests
Absorbed in memories of surer things
Like the smell of a woman's soft,supple breasts
And everything else that a smile brings.

Lucid and decidely slippery
This vision appears
But i can see this young girl with an ancient face;freely
Dancing to the music of the spheres.
Beads of sweat like rosaries
Are soaked in by the silk she adorns
And patches born on the white of her dress agree
That i too must wear proudly my crown of thorns.

Tears soak her wetted breast ,
her splattered blouse embraces her figure and form
I try not to stare as i can best
For her this beast in me must transform.
Kissed by the God of love that night i died
And awoke to a bright mid-day sun
And still i look for the girl who cries
With whom i had a story begun!