Why should we look for the lines
On the hands which come to soothen?
I stand on the side of the breasts
That comfort me.
The look of the loving eyes,
My angst.
The beauty of the eyes that bo\ehold,
Another domain
I do not need its tradition,
Nor its beauty
Honey drips in words:
I do not need it
Words slepping out of tougue
Do not provide staple
For my anger.
I search for love
In all lips.
More than the beauty of lips
Do I need, not the clinical preciseness
Of the dentals
Looking into my soul,
I can see this all.
My belief
Is my breath.
I cherish the sigh of
That mind which comes searching for me;
Not the beauty of the nose.
I do not seek the beauty of
The hands that embrace me.
Remember the touch of the hands
Is a rare love, silence.
I am not in the firmness of the
Breasts which love me,
But in the over flowing love
Will I plant myself.
Not the ornamentation of the feet
Not its shapeliness
Will decide my path
The firmness on
The earth
Like unending power of will,
Like a serpent, slithering comes
Though my thoughts.
My feet
Follows that serpent’s travel
