Poetry

Traversing atopia 
I am touching your belly button, 
to find the remains 
of ancient connectivity. 
 
Was that good- 
asking for a nasal approach 
to the golden incense 
of a sleeping Buddha? 
 
The faith crumbles at 
the feet of a groping figure. 
A falcon tears away the pink 
globe, drinking the falling nectar. 
 
Unzipped, a Venus now opens 
the secret of a murder. The 
dismembered parts were strewn 
around over the surface of moon.