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My hands are still bones
The cathedral is your body�.
Your belly tastes like bread
We were summer and
A thousand torments
My doubts I doubt
My conviction is a labyrinth
Where do I begin to love?

In a notebook I guard tact
And your figure fermenting
In my mattress,
Where do I begin to end?

I can distinguish between kisses
And putting down roots
I can't distinguish between
The complex and simple
And you are now on my list of
Promises to forget.

We are much older and more honest
But so what?
If we look upon the lagoon that's called
Eternal absence

Reviews

[Gheeneil]

I see an image of relationship but not that of love. "We were summer" could mean there was chemistry. They would blend perfectly as her body was a "cathedral", a "comfort" for his worldly soul maybe. The closeness they had made some things difficult for him. I would say he wanted out. Well, that's my interp. I can't tell if I hit the bullseye. A great write.

[_mal]

Wow,