Desire responding 

like a flower in osmosis

taking in slowly

the touch, the feverish grasp.

The absence. 

A traumatic loss

of the proximity. 

The flower

without age.

After a spell of withering

a tide of yearning

calls. 

A waste of beauty,

frightening.

The beauty without a mirror to know its magic

without the seeping rain absorbing sky,

and without the earth to take it in.

Years go by as the Desire renews the Body

feeling a shower of kisses 

falling on its soil

The typing of fingers 

stopping in wait,

for the emerging note

from the warm cavern .

A mermaid rises 

pressing her palms 

against the water ,

Desire rises.