love never trades in
such certainties,
beauty and proportion;
the butterfly has
folded its wings.
come!
come behind closed door
witness the shadows you long to see;
feeling in tongues, release me
to the speechless full moon.
shadowed kisses fade
from the proverbial wall
as they whisper their desire
into your echoing palms:
less than the hand of a woman.
`T. Imaan Tretchicovmanicova
