story of a story

suddenly we felt that we are children
we saw her sitting on a black slab with one leg over the other

the spring air received the maple flowers smell
on her short dress printed

she had large breasts
big hips
pitch big eyes
mouth
like a weeping willow leaf
under her feet the river stretched like a silver snake
slipped among old gravel

in the
water mirror another story happens
much hotter

she sat on our hearts or even supported
on our pupils
then suddenly we thought that we were not children
we looked as frisky calves to the cow udder
all we fit to look at her from the foot toward the golden hair
crashed through the shoulders

in the left pocket of the most daring
a rare bird's nest had made
and had no place to fly to high

(I have not laughed about I swear
I was too busy to look at the fine sock yarn
at the light nerve tightly between her legs)

we all we looked deeply so naive so gentle
we walked on her young skin
we wallow like pigs on her belly
each in his own way
with own story
with own words
forgetting each other

yes
she still has not left
does not want
does not want to leave

I suddenly felt wholeheartedly
that thin wire weaved painstakingly on our faces