, , , , , ,

I danced when I saw you. And you sang.


Her poetry transcends. His mind embraces.


They are one hundred and fifteen different souls.

They are the hands of ninety nine clocks, ancient and beautiful.

They are the eyes of Chinese girls and tigers excited for the sunrise.

They are the lips of giraffes and camels speaking of the wild.


She is not the sun, not the moon. He is not the lion, not the mountain.

She is not.

He sighs.


They dream. Only.