i've been making love to the solar system
led by the fencelessness behind your glance
for nine years and three quarters

now, under arrest,
kept at least 50 meters away from our
routine
by three winged dinosaur-like
memories
and self sufficient retrospective representations…

i know perfection can’t be reached
i wish i had enjoyed our cruise on the eighth cloud of friendship
just a little bit more;
we, weak prisoner of the cognitive process projecting your skin

it is mercury, never the sun – just know that
a trip to the mercuries of one’s sheer joy
is just as gripping
and don’t you turn the page as fast as i sometimes do
because


that unfinished phrase may be the end

sometimes