Added 13 October 1997
Mesmerized by the haunting flute
played poorly by my hand.
Caught up in the formless tune
caressed by unsure fingers.
The distant instrument moves
suspended in front of me,
enticing me on, and on.
Hands touch the image
and nothing more.
Breath sounds out the vision
of bodies intertwined while
the Geopoliticus Child watches on.
Lips part from their long rueful kiss,
the tin whistle falls from my hands
as the sound-scent of sex
is eaten by this bed, these walls,
fading fast therein,
but slowly in my mind.
Written 31 October 1995
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