I drum into exaustion these particular words:
living is a slice of time that we own in Easter lottery.
Fat and flat lifes are nonexisting to me.
Yes, it's my way of living.
It seems some people sold off their veins
in a common place where they could acclimate
their soft maners into social lies.
I came across these fluctuation of desire since
the edge of time casts up every semblance
between real time and impossible time.
As to you, my unprobable reader, I don't really
have ever seen you. I just smelt your presence
in the rumor of flowers and summer breezes
in my face. I know that somewhere there is
somebody like you.
Infant thouts these of mine: lilicas in a lac
of lime. If ressemblance existis,
then you should be like me.
And I know well: you are not like these people in the street
looking for Armany brands in a twopenny bag.
You can still see the difference
between a thowsand species of rain.
I sent out my words for your recognition
since my spelling is so simple
yours probably so complex and cramped.
I sent out my senses for an exquisite meal
melting snow in a smouth fire
it doesn't mather
what we had to do in while.
These are drums of fire.
I've seen through your eyes
the long view of times
I think it will last forever,
reader,
these unforfegatable walks
we have overdone over the words
seeds of grass, living wonders
of temptation and regard, reader,
I invite you
I could rehearse once more eternity
in its own. Could you be my eyes
could I be your legs and we would
sold out all the words in bold.
So, stop eyeing up every other road passing by,
your own drive is an interesting course
you didn´t studied well. And I can be the ground
I can built the floor
where you stop for a quick meal of mirth
to hit on peace and warmth or fall...
.
