your soul spilling over me, pouring into my ears and eyes
lost in your waves, and — what do i care for their serenades and shouting?
for all i care they may dance on the rooftops
and we just are
this man. with a face like jesus, and the devil’s eyes, and his ridiculously straight nose, and the ever sarcastic twitching of his lips, and his sharp tongue, and his delicate fingers, and the wonderful things he creates with them —