a clamor for more of us, for us
a screaming above the chorus

secretly into a pair of shy ears
a wanton proposal. relentless


no more us, whisper the raw lips
of a prince, skin and bones

on his coronation, a waiting begins,
fixes time into the spiral


of a snail, and learns the faces
of the sun, its fiery gaze

patron am I to the art of you
pauper to your regal eyes


on me again, pass the hat again
hum the tune for the ex-muse

the song of the past, of lucidity
and I will dance, slow motion


to our waters, our lost embraces,
a dance without end, prayer to the

indomitable regime of your hands,
delicate, eternally potent


of my veins, seated on a throne
of red flesh, in the city of me