Faun's labyrinth

 Your presence

is in the air

in the constance

in which it makes me aware

of every rightness

and dissonance.

In every image

you planted and won't take back

from the darkness -

the palm on my hip

playing with the fingertip,

the mouth on my neck

down the warmth of the cleavage.

You are present

and yet absent

in the mark behind the ear

waiting god knows how many a year

to be maybe more than a ghost.

I don't blame the hunger now

when there was nothing then.

After all, I don't even know

if things are ever gonna get even.

In the meantime, I appreciate the host.

24/03/2021