Did you lose your way…
along the passages through the cliffs?
Falling, falling, lips brushed cold Midnight night skies,
to the warmth of Gauguin‘s light.
Pressed iced glass colors Calmness washed absent
Flight, from civility Bohemian magic
Rediscovery in Pressed fingers pulse beat
The rhythm of paced breaths the pearls dropped …
spilling on to floor stealing the shimmer of pale moons.
Bending images back
Into an Iris penetrating….
nike e. bottalico