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| | Breath |  | | | 18/9/2015...503HZ.... and the truth is in the centre | | |
To drown in a depth which all depth fathoms...
Night dresses with a child's light
now, just as then, a cryptic wound whistles
and the silver moment lingering...
nude; perpetual
when glass shatters, could its faces be our own.
...a child paints only in colours of the day.
where no eyes stroke these words, our truths lay silent on this bed
embracing
at the knife's strike, through the looking glass...
glass shatters, glass shines once more
your indulgence made of silk, shivering
with dance grasping what arms thought immaterial.
a chorus, ever fleeing in this void;
wet lips weighing mortality's language,
echo through the shard, purple, and back again...
tonight, just as the night before, drown
to breathe in a depth where all depth shelters...
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**Ηώς**
18-09-2015 @ 09:08 | «where no eyes stroke these words, our truths lay silent on this bed
embracing
at the knife's strike, through the looking glass...»
αν και η μετάφραση όχι τόσο κατατοπιστική μπήκα λίγο στο νόημα! | |  |
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