it exists as sound and memory

yes here i was a girl-born-boy, and yes i here became golden loin to all — sigh loud, dream-eye; to love my lust was little whim, though where i sleep - in water - i had yet drown nor swam, afloat beneath this closed-eye sky. oh wink moon smile, to spinning us below, drinking this air of cold dark and merged life around, elbows linked arm-to-arm and ears covered by fire hair, oh bright flurry here amongst eve and her shadow - where are we, we are ungraspable colour, and this slow-spun fast ignites the air. where are we, my lover, but not here.

we are atop the water, a small pebble-littered stream of which we cockle with our fingers and feet and occasionally drown in. each kiss is a breath stretched metres abroad on a frozen winter morn, smoke in the valley, oh black darkness you became. we are windfall though roll no further, so creep here, quiet, through goosebumped skin and wonder upon the sky, clear-eyed and beautiful, whispered wind stirring the embers of our wispy fire-hair, where bright of this night here sighs our winter song.

oh my sky-breath-sound, my implosive love, we are nestled leaves and us - soft silence hidden by trees and nearby river, or tip-toed stream through lush valley where thigh-high green grass grows and grows and traces the cracked dry ravines of our skin.

by thomas dylan