with a red scarf
round my heart
and butterflies
in my hair
I'll be waiting
for you
at the end
of the rainbow
where souls sing
their own songs
and spring writes
its own poetry
playing the angels
we'll be riding
winged, white horses
chasing lovers'dreams
free of memories
we'll plunge naked
into a forest of clouds
reconstructing the very myth
of the androgyne...
but don't hurry
there will be plenty of time