She tells me how he made love to her under the desert sky
in the darkness of early morning. She gushes over how they
slid in the sand, like a tatoo of entwined serpents,to the rhythm     
of Jazz coming from the car parked further up on the road.

All of a sudden, it seemed necessary to touch you. Once again. My dream material.    

He leans against me amusing over the drive they took 
through a layer of mist hung low over the forest, how 
beautiful she looked then, resting her head against his      
shoulders, and how he kissed his way across her breasts. 

All of a sudden, it seemed necessary to touch you. Once again. My dream material.  

Like many times before, I hide shrouded by the silence, 
amidst the hustle and bustle of shameless and loud tales.
I feel naked. With no tales of mine. My palm-sized heart shrinks.       
Overwhelmed with the weight of unseen tears that flow later in the night. 

All of a sudden, it seemed necessary to touch you. Once again. My dream material.  

I need to prepare for the night. A few things. A little room with its windows
open, the bed, a book filled with the dry leaves that I collected on a deserted 
street, a cool wind to blow against the house I live in,  and agonise the trees,  
to scratch at the windows like a sweet lullaby, in the warmth of a still summer night.

All of a sudden, all these seemed necessary. To touch you, once again. My dream material. 

….I am wearing my robes for one more show!

After a string of shows all around the countryside, to a handful of my admirers, those who I can see, touch and blow kisses at, and those who I wait for in the pale shadows, leaning against the wall to weave words for me, when the heart beats accelerate in a maddening pace, giving one more chance to sit relaxedly in the couch, and to wonder at the ever complex simulated interwoven themes of humor, street gaiety, suppressed desires underneath the sheets, grief over the sudden departure of a lover without a good-bye hug, greying in the fast lanes of life, with the not so great looking leading lady who seems to be attempting to draw one more predictable and meaningless pattern on the dance floor over a waltz with an unidentified stranger who they could not see, but unfortunately yet curiously she could see, in the forthcoming fresher seasons ….

Her downcast eyes lost in a mesmeric trance
seem to discard his presence. Startled mute, 
he stared at his love walking away into the   
street harsh with traffic. Sun light glowing 
down on his face tirelessly, he sat there, his 
elbows on the table, watching the clamorous
dry leaves rustling across with every feet and 
everything ; She sees him, lost and exhausted, 
paying a silent homage of thoughts unspoken,
only to be broken by the unsuspected rhythm…..Of Autumn, went on a vacation!


{Are not we exhibitionists? we exhibit or flaunt our love. we exhibit or flaunt our loneliness.I do indulge in that!} and ……………

{link:Vitas Bumac haunts you}—-Courtesy :Sid again!