me. the galoping instant of. whatever. let us call it the first kiss or the first punch. simultaneously. me. the hoods and the meadows. one tree hides part of the horizon. me. the sensation of a tree. the refreshing sensation after a waterfall. nothing but a signature on the flesh. me. it lasts forever. even god undervalues the power of This. and he is roundly wrong. a horse of rainbows. a horse on the brink of understanding. moons and rainbows within his eyes. green and red. me. always bittersweet.
this is a study on the legs of horses. they are four. fold and unfold like wings. women only have two. half horse. thus women do not galop. sometimes they look desperate seeking equilibrium. they never fall. the world the floor the stage. certainly. not them.
after the shower. the young horses invent a naked morning. why not this evening. are there rainbows in the evening? there should be. intimately in chains. like kisses. chaotic memories of kisses. hiding trees. within. me.
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