His eye is slow and sensuous;
it lingers on your breast.
His fingers weave the wiry thread;
the beard flows to his chest.
Gypsy, lost in plate glass skies,
will I pass the test?
Gypsy, fondling inner lies,
will I here find rest?
His arm slips slowly round you;
the tree grips the earth.
His gaze cuts through your sighs.
He knows you will forever thirst.