Under its mellow touch 

I sat. 

Unheard, unspoken. 

Carved against the wood, 

insensing the broken back

its travails, its turmoil 

I touched its tale 

with my alien trajectory. 

Its rounded brownness

framed my bashfulness. 


Under its red ray, 

I wrote. 

Unwordy, unworldy. 

Arched at its angled string, 

inhaling its intimate hear, 

its cage, its prison deep. 

I embraced its arms

with my amorous eyes. 

Its squared redness 

released my stolen self.