There's the moon,

the ocean and silver spume,

a circle of mist

and pretty crystals, crumbling under my fist.

An arch, a new geometry

a double rock where I'm a refugee,

a simple time and place

a monument to fate

It's not the lust

although to be just

It must be confessed

that our love is blessed.

It's the sound of your skin -- I quiver

the scent of your voice -- You whisper

the feel of your eyes -- You flicker

the sight of your taste -- I shiver

I dream of guarding your dreams

I dream of watching you breath in a stream

I dream of your head layed down to sleep on my lap

I dream of things like that

Come on hot lava my sweet bait

here's my heart

I just I can't wait

Take my hand, take me whole

Let's set sail

to that burning band of gold

By Luis Rocha

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e-mail: rocha@lanl.gov
Last Modified: November 3, 1997