Heart sinking deep, body floating in space
Belly quivers and rises, shaking my thoughts
And they drip one by one, sliding through my ears
Into zillion pieces and more, drifting, swimming
A combustion of energy, pure and angular, rounded and bashful

Shrills of surrender murdering my hunger
Calls of glee shattering past thunder.
Bodies, hurt and bruised, united, circling a universal truce
Forgetting and remembering beyond today and right now
Living eternally, through always and glorified POW.

Is this reality of unconditional love?
Is this aeternus? The truth of our illusive crash?
You fall, I fall, we cast a spell, not to puncture our own wounds
In love we fall and pray for selfless, healing wands.

Alas I give my mind, a sky of golden blue and pink
Tie you a swing all the way up from heaven
Tree twenty nine, branch eleven
Push until you ask 'no more' and soak in your smile
Suck your toes, as they hover over grass
Kiss your tender, animal brows
Feel the whoosh from your skin to mine
Sit silently and melt insomniacly into each other’s arms.

Give me your human aches, we'll exchange for some days
I would walk in your shoes, see through your eyes
Sense like you do, as intuitively as a sharp bull
And you my lover, can soar, and flex your bones
Feel them bend, twist and swerve
Binding your muscles like continental birds.

Dancing together you and I
Thinking your thoughts, feeling my breath
Melt and mix, blend into one
I give you my trust, my consequential growing lust.

You and I, burning down the dust
Running through fog, like the dutiful dusk
That rises and shuns in a cornered starry cusp
Dawning ideas, setting beliefs
Let them laugh, carelessly we
Becoming believers of a soggy, soppy clan
Adorn and yearn for one another’s plan
Leaning on faith like an unconscious task
As our love fills up this bottomless flask.

Raw, almost untouched. Unsalted, not frozen or marinated, but straight from the fishing hook that is waiting to catch you from a processed lake, designed to spit you out as a theatrical trickster, a zombie of society.

A doomed sinner of the modern world. You, who denied the goodness of the lord. Raw meat, straight from the slaughter, you sell yourself to a training camp.

You turn into a sponge, soaking in molecules of brain activity. Your flesh drenched in history. Cooking away your bloody juices takes a lifetime; marinating, another lifetime. As dooming as can get, as succulent and sadistically sweet.

Then, the life of the ego, a past verdict and forgiven. Now, the footsteps the universe carves bellow you, forth you, splaying out, in vessels of unknown human bonds. You, a bearer of drama-technology, now an open ship; You are sailing with neophytes of movement ichnology.

I am greeting, the vast world that governs and rules the vibrations I expel every day; the incessant stream of my unconscious. The part I truly, do not know.

The part that when I realise, conceive moments of epiphany, fragments of insight. An apocalypse! To understand oneself, to see ones blueprint forth their eyes in a mental screen, like an unravelling film of parading memories. The battles of my mind, my search for the link, if I may be so bold, the arrival to consciousness through an unfolding story of growing that never ceases. 

Rays flickering in the waters, this buried coffin of thoughts, this body: my body - a submarine of stored history. By seeing myself, I am more open to see others. Yet, how painful it can be to look through analytic binoculars! Devouring every inch of my spirit. A brain swell, a shivering quilt of forms and layer upon layer of mind consuming energy. To genuinely give and deliver from the core of your being, impossible with a bag of rubbish trickling out of you. My guilt swells up. I hold it in my palm, with an exhale of relief.

I found this wonderful quote from Wilson Bentley (in 1925):

Under the microscope, I found that snowflakes were miracles of beauty; and it seemed a shame that this beauty should not be seen and appreciated by others. Every crystal was a masterpiece of design and no one design was ever repeated. When a snowflake melted, that design was forever lost. And just to think, that that much beauty was gone, without leaving any record behind.

I was thinking if you could quantify beauty in each snowflake and there are infinite snowflakes, then that means they are infinitely beautiful. Which is just a wonderful thought, isn't it?

Charles Mallah