When I hear the sound of falling

When I hear the sound of falling,
silken cloth
I feel that sense of rigamortis
For I only want to die a little too
The curve, To be rest, in the sight
Of such a woman. Excited beyond repair
There are no ticking clocks. I am
Stuck at twelve.
Lunch. I lunge for the legs of delicious
White meat prepared
The aroma of our cooking, the sensuous flavour, sensuous
It is; more the feeling when the time is right the shudder I prepared
For food to die for, that is always there
There I know the comefort of that silken cloth
The bump of a porcelain rock
Soft like the touch
A moon, with the light of a setting sun.
A landscape I know too well.
A familiar smell, like the morning
Light more than star crossed lovers
For we have contact of I's
Arms crossed, Legs crossed lovers
Of exquisite design, perfection
Sharing the same glass of white wine
Essence poured, a cup overflowed
A cock does crow like the dark knight
On his snow covered landscape.
He knows too well the rapturous ecstasy
Within and where his sun does rise and set.