A Touch Of Torture
 
Your heart goes on a stroll.
Mine follows.A gongbeat sounds.
A touch of torture seizes the beat.
For arms that open and take in a wanderer,
a tenor rises.For desire in a trail,
a countertenor falls.To a spearpoint we
rise with longing.The knowledge of a love
that burns the heart burns our cove.
Homeless,we trace airheads
in a bandbox.Our day gets stained.
Why should I hug your name now when
I know it doesn't sound true any more?