I entered you like a book.
It is a way of accessing
a consecrated ritual of the gaze.
I agree as when I am available
to read and the pages are moving.
When the words flee in your eyes,
yearning, shivering with anxiety.
And the perfumes come off
in all our space.
The mystery is there in the encounter
that keeps you waiting.
It is impossible to stop the machinery,
the wind gear
that is shaken by the presence.
The monumental back of the unstable character,
the figure of him, something discernible in the books,
It is a conjecture of your presence,
the instability of the conjecture.
You are in our things
and the game is unthinkable.