as moscas do tempo gostam de uma flecha

time flies
like an arrow
I dwelt
upon
thy knee
the line
of the thigh
thy back
the neckbone
arms pressing together
the outer side of fine
little breasts
I’ve got stuck
worshipping an idle
accentuated
body
exaggerated by disease
and rendered twice
over body
it was something in the highest degree
fleeting and tenuous
a thought
a delusion
the frightful
infinitely alluring
dream
whose unconscious questioning
of the universe
received no answer
save
a hollow silence