Oil of your lay
Ethereal, that´s you, oiled up as you lay in the bathtub, steaming hot, impossible to grasp, a passion, a laugh. Oil of u lay, Ooo u lay with me, we slide around between bubbles, unearthly scent, impulsively getting under the skin and under the surface, danger of drowning in your arms or where ever I am under these slippery conditions..
Bang! Ouch, my head.. "maybe we should go dancing instead?", I proposed. You laughed at me, you, eternal summer framed in the window of october outside, rainy afternoon, washing line with new meaning, clothes actually getting washed.
You follow my gaze. "Who needs clothes?", you seemed to think. Right. In this hilarious garden of Eden with room for even a Kundalini snake, who had to get out in the socalled real world outside? This was it.
October, June, July. You and I.
/Note the unpredictable variation in tenses, present and past. I decided to let it be in the great name of imperfection. Imperfection makes musik and shit. :-)