Stuff Of Myths

You will be sitting in the body warmth of midwinter now
Your skin a meeting place
And cold will be fingering your shirt buttons
Your narrow shrank could be feasted upon
And outside the wind will be cunning, full of appetite
It will seek a way, it will knock itself senseless
But you, you will retain your practised indifference
As if you could not be hurt as if you'd never been hurt
It tastes an old flavour, once called love
On open beaches, naked in sandy waters of blue tropics
Movement and the surface of this planet force winds
They assume stony shapes, they invent cold hands
But never disbelieve the sensual air on your body
It keeps you living, put on warm clothes
But do not believe this will save you
Your own self radiates, that is why the frozen wind is forced back
You are a long long way from me, my hungry tongue buffets
From a long way
It tastes an old flavour, once called love
On open beaches, naked in sandy waters of blue tropics
Open the door now, the faces are they still shining?
In the procession I nudge and finger
Like the wind I am nothing