Mr Guggenheim has much to answer for
Kandinsky's wheel
is turning in the sky
like a moon with spokes.
a small blonde child climbs
from your pocket
and nestles under your chin
safe
warmed
you feel the breathing
you sense her lightness
and her depth
her sleep is the shape
of your eyes
her dream is the music
of your voice
my heart is the coloured stream
of her curving love
and my heart is within you
I want it back.
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