in the deep dark cool green
of the forest
where the trees played woodwinds
i, in search of my giraffe man
you, in search of your mouse lady
~peekaboo~
we, frozen as a myth
in sepia.
saints sang their righteous tunes
as we knelt, side by side,
on the pew
reciting the lyrics of our encounters
from unfolded papers bound
for a book we have yet to write.
on my ~straat~ and on your ~rue~
we tiptoe, ~unmasked~,
with coins and chestnuts in our pockets,
to the rhythm of rain puddles
as we reach out to the unknown,
(shaky hands with prickly pins)
trusting our lips
curling against the gravity towards
the soft maracas beats in the air.
(kiss me quick)
