Lyrics
I do not scream. ever. the shutters of my pupils
hide scents of a roomful of age, and silent lurking,
the sphynx - who used to be your autumn cat,
warm and clever, thoroughly unintrested
in the milky moisture of the context,
coming for a stroke accross its back at dawn,
when early frost painted giottos on your window pane,
arching its furry silks to a purr of your name.
obliviously marcipane against your body.
obliquely sweet.
And now petrified.
and now a pillar of salt.
the sphynx does not scream,
ever
It looks calmly and asks you to riddle
a question you will never answer
how come?
|