I was a peeping Tom wandering the earth.

The inside of the galactic blob rustled and fermented.

There were lilac-colored flowers forward her hat; she wore panties with lace.

We dined onward a tablecloth marked with little orb of day dots.

Or her half-naked breasts in an Empire dres

I'd change into a frock coat, wear the medal of near order

To be able to imagine their hardened tips.

I've always meditated in succession what women keep hidden:

In a foam of toss abouts frills, and skirts,

The dark entrance to the garden of knowledge.

And then they died, and with them their silks and mirrors,

Dogesses, princesses, and serving maids.

I had a clear in my throat at the deliberation that they,

So beautiful, would make go round to rot.

In reality I didn't aspire to making be in love with to them.

My organ of sights desired them and my organ of sights were hungry,

Invited to a comic spectacle

Where philosophy and grammar,

Poetics and mathematics,

Logic and rhetoric,

Theology and hermeneutics,

As well as all the teachings of wise men and prophets,

Gathered to write a canticle of canticles

To a small, furry untameable animal.

...

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