Thank you R.A.D. Stainforth, for bringing my words to life ...
I
draw a bath,
an
extra holy one ―
listen
to Gould
play
Moonlight Sonata;
realize
it's sometimes good
to
conjure new rhythms,
modulate
the time-scale.
Embedded
bruises rinse pale,
trickle
along transitory lines
to
the sanctity of the river.
I
come downstairs,
steeped
smooth and soft,
to
find you, anticipant on the sofa.
Christen
me with your best icky,
your
most sophisticated stuff.
tk/September 2012
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image: Summer Night, 1913, Albert Bloch
