Dust

[timpeltje]

Dust is resting on his mind,
blown away by a sudden gust
no one had predicted -
shiningly creating shimmering
surfaces of continuity and love -
hidden until now, beneath layers
of sex and germs that needed killing.
Youth is living in us only for a day,
dust settles quicker upon us,
but for now - oh my dearest -
let us take advantage of our flight
to nowhere. Harmony.