Do you remember that our trip
By railway coach,
In the compartment
Which was empty and discreet,
And how incessantly
I kissed your palms
To broach
Their scented,
Womanly,
Affectionate deceit?

Behind the window,
Burial mounds swam to pass us;
The past again,
Forgotten,
They were evanesced;
Unclasping
I removed your bra,
Like the eye-glasses
From trembling
Rosy
Staring pupils of your breast.

There,
In geometry
Of empty shelves of coach,
Gazing,
We read the whole novel,
All of it
Which was abrupt and transient, dear,
But don't reproach
The manly,
Hot,
Disturbed,
And passionate deceit.

Reality
Appeared
Without invitation,
A thief
Who left after himself
So vivid trails:
Next door compartments'
Idiotic conversations
And
Crazy hammering
Of wheels on endless rails.

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