there are swords in a palace of my dreams that
glint each night behind faces of darkness
smouldering till
the dawn of realization and
each night as you tiptoe
past me treading lightly
these long images balanced precariously on a
glint of pain and desire
i sometimes reach out
to grasp the whiff
of a thousand thoughts tied
with a single strand of your
hair in a far corner
overlapping a distant nosering.