Chalk

My mystical dark-haired dream phantom
with eyes of amethyst
skin of chalk
muscles of a stallion and voice
of a stripped and polished emotion —
My mystical dark-haired dream phantom
are you meditating now as you sit
flickering on your bright strewn floor
among Western shapes and Oriental colours?
Are you beckoning now as you pass
between rooms, without moving,
into a darker, softer zone
of cushions and rare stringed instruments?
You are beckoning and
I am following.

I pick up a strange guitar
strange but comfortable
I play a simple alternation on
the top two strings, the notes awaken,
and my mystical dark-haired dream phantom
sings.
When he sings it is another universe.
A universe where pi is different
but still irrational
A place where Truth and Love and Sex are One
and my dream phantom is all and one.
His voice makes it possible,
the swirl of his tones.
His long dark hair is singing
his amethyst eyes are crying
and the lines on his middle-aged skin
are smiling.

What do you think?