the will of the mind
the dreams are owned by strangers. if I had men they would be he. he lives far away, in a place, where all the windows are beginning from letter a. in a place where the nights are under the stars, and dates are speaking eyes smelling as coffee. he is gone, and for ever here, as the will of the mind sticking the bosom of a dream early in the morning. unable to catch I hold his hair through my hands his smile, his eyes elsewhere which are seeing another way. so tenderly I would been quiet, quiet, quiet.