This one squirms
And squeezes through
The crinkled hedge
Of my dream.
Lays her head
At my feet,
Which are two tiny lakes,
Inside whose depths
Are fish
Whose flicking tails
Are the remnants
Of some childhood.
Hers. Mine. Guiltless.
Like that.
And squeezes through
The crinkled hedge
Of my dream.
Lays her head
At my feet,
Which are two tiny lakes,
Inside whose depths
Are fish
Whose flicking tails
Are the remnants
Of some childhood.
Hers. Mine. Guiltless.
Like that.
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