The music was magic
and my fingers
on your skin
guessed oceans
away.
And we were
so close
I could hear
your heart stop
in every gesture
that slips
of my hand.
-
This is a resting place, a shelter from the storm, on those acid days brought by real sky. Reality, if someone asks, is a bunch of sculpture buildings modeled by senses, social conscience and personality, in order to induce emotions and patterns of life and maximum welfare. If People bring here some of their limits, behind a shadow of what they really are, then sl is just part, not another dimension of their world.