In noiseless nights they woolgather
an unceasing ebb and flow
of bodies’ fluctuation. Like the way
an ocean joins the land... Caressive.
Tickles of imperfection upon islands of sand.
Eyes like an oculus of the pantheon of Rome
gaze out past the heavens
the windows of the world;
reflecting tiny golden gods which collaborate and regard
the tepid embrace of creation.
Is this loneliness?
Sedately attached hand in hand