A book of windless tremors
A book of ancient freedoms
A book upon a book upon a love
Who called out in the night
A call so deadly
A call so much like yours
I will not be a stranger
to those toes upon your feet
To the cigarette in your mouth
nor the gap in the beat to which you pound those feet
I will run out of things to sing
You called to me so deadly
You called to me with your own shattering voice of the fallen angels
Just as you belong to me
I shall belong to the wind and the trees
And the sea
The billowing sheets
And the trembling beats to which you pound your feet.
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