Fear Filled

Under my fear-filled

brook which flows down

from the memories

of an old mirror,

I knocked at your

door as an

attempt to provoke

your bed and

dreams with white rabbits

and few, but charming ,doves.

Russell’s wiper

slept in tranquility

in your courtyard

as a sign of melting love

and passionate

days and night in our

bedroom garden.

still, you kept dreaming

under the pale petals of

a giant yellow flower  

without noticing

the inferno of lust and

a shadow of swan

together waiting

at your door

as a melting mask of self.