For FM / FF
You looked from under
your fermata brow,
there over your right eye,
your cast unbowed
to time’s reduction,
or to time’s recourse,
as seconds stretched,
four senses soft-paused:
I, an Asura, stared
at your slightly dry lips,
eyes to your neck
past pearls, yet kissed;
I trailed down your throat,
I wished to cusp,
but only with sight
could I ever dare touch.
The sixth sense failed me,
that night sophime:
But under time’s arrow
you then became mine.