Ariadne's Thread

Pools In Tide

the swingers in place, from writers to birth

hidden among, the carvings and the string

wrapped around, the fingers of our heart

where does it all ride, where does it all come true

the lovers fantasies, in guild, to believe

all would end, if this hunger, pain

the pushing around, in the eyes

swimming as pools so deep to swim

holding our breathe, so that we might gaze

just a little longer, at words hanging around

under the tides so high, and rise above

the feelings and doubt, so shadowed

by the waves which curl

from land to sea, all which begins does in fact, shall end

but believe, as you always do, that lover's call

is waking you too, from the moment you hear the sounds

that no one other can sing, devoted or not

from a simple whisper to a burely shout

heard by senses lacking, even at the depths you plunge

and while, at the top of your lungs do need air

for the waters do drown, even as the hunger stings

and begs you, to stay, just a little longer

at the bottom of the deep green ocean's