Evolution of love

The people

The people are little bottles of mist,
A product,
Of thousand references and inchoate noises slipping from the great glass windows into
Long neatly dull stripes of land

The people are plastic bags
The chocolate and the stickers fill them tight

Am looking for moonlit nights in the itching chest of the day
Looking for strands of black wool like nights
And moons, swollen and ripe
Cratered and almost ripping at the skin
Like your body

The people are a dull steel redness
Spreading on my grained retina,

I am looking for you
Underneath my closed eyes

And the soft familiar smelling moss lined tunnel
Leads only deeper inside

There must be a temple and a home
Underneath the millenial flesh.