streaming, feathered, winging --
'look at your tops, they are my bottoms,'
she tweets 'n twitters, murmurs me:me
surging urges in the air she soars
everywhere a falling feeling --
a free-spirit flows through her wings
a sort of sixth sense
for rising up to close the gap --
caresses curious circuits, twirling,
drifting through heightened meaning --
she speaks in many tongues,
licking the edge of a hush with the rush
of a far-cry, a longing songing sigh --
in a fluttering, floating glide,
she rounds in passions now arrived, now along,
falling fast, now turned, re-turned, now gone...
this human race, so enthralled with all the rush, in the noise of clamouring at the speed of life, we shove and push ...