Let us go then, you and I,
The evening sauntering like a dream,
Baked in an untimely slumber, only if half;
Awakened to a knock at the door,
Yearnings of our lives
Each unto oneself, a look into the other's eye.
Oh, do not say, that you don't know,
Why it is that we push our nails
Deep into our skin,
Long fingers waiting to be read,
Before your deluge.
Let us go and make our visit.
In the room the women come and go
Talking of Michelangelo.
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