Leaning on a vertical meadow

I’m waiting for a butterfly to take me high

There is a building with a harelip

and balconies wounded by geraniums

I have kneaded hearts and blades of grass

And found a nest of whisks

And in a little while the wind will speak to me of you

I found a secret passageway

inside the pockets of my pants

Deserted beaches and turquoise coves

and tufts of lit candelabras

Your body swallowed by the sand

Your eyes become tadpoles

And now the sea belongs to you

Your back a hot hypotenuse

leads to the service area

My arm a straight beltway

that brushes against your overpasses

I am closed up in an olive with wheels

And I breath in fake aromas of a forest

I am not yet able to get along without you