you could be the ultra-long cigarette
that burns until your fingers burn
you could be the air of the diphthong
that warms secrets from within
you could be the thud that crushes
the obscene look that astonishes
the touch of the hip that floods
the diamond nail that scratches
you would be my book of sand
that brings Mason to the mountain
the lifeline that entangles
as in the spider's strategy
you would be the lost object
that always makes me feel poor
the hidden thread of Ariane
whose tip love discovers
you could be the tired candle
the day that I only sense
you could be the golden wax
waiting at the end of the labyrinth

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