I used to think too much, within this detached torpor.
Sat with you, sun-drenched by radiant limpidness.
Exalting vibrations of positivism emanate from your perfect nature.
The intermittence of stirring lips reminds me of fish frantically demanding to breathe.
The way they danced made me believe you were speaking.
Stories you have been telling for hours.
Words aligned in a slogan of absurdities.
The world interpreted by your materialist constitution
came from your deepest sentiment
(I don't exist).
Obviously you have been gifted with the most precious piece of the puzzle.
An emblem can be artistic and attractive.
But its meaning can be aimless and unreasonable.
Sporadic abstraction, trough your fractionized sculpture.
Your world intertwines with mine, resulting in something horrendous.
The last dance is just another story...