darling do you realise,
the mist that swirls inside your eyes?
in the evening time, stretched wide to house the moon,
you grin and check my vital signs,
then trace the course of my palm-lines,
etched paths twist and turn, converge, and all return to you,
was it the tracing of your finger?
at certain times you seem to linger,
longer in my mind’s eye than the credit you’ve been due,
was it the moss upon my stone?
the present you so clearly own,
the dye that had been cast is past: ‘now’s’ new dice to roll,
our time upon this earth is short,
our future is an afterthought,
i’m stuck with pins; it must be your voodoo,
and your black magic gypsy hex,
tickling the nape of my neck,
honored hairs all arise, standing to salute,
your holy gaze and aureole,
never caught you in this light before,
you’re fixing up; I know you’re bound to shoot,
but for now, let's just recline,
on this sofa outside space and time,
and bask serene in low-lights, beaming down the avenue.