• rodney 7w

    25th February, 2021.
    11:56 p.m.

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    Pardon, mademoiselle.

    Leather foams,

    I see lather foams when I close my eyes.

    I see your bare feet feeling the warm sand and the wet floor.

    When I close my eyes,

    I fantasize you and our paradise isle.

    The one that's half-melted,
    Time turning cold water to rime.

    Alike, my fingertips trying to freeze the wine in the glass.

    Alike, alike your smile that evaporated as soon as time.

    As I was left wondering and wondering and wondering of it thrice,
    Thrice and more, until it sliced my valves open,

    Baked it in red saucy flavours.

    ‘Bon appetit!’ as it sounds.
    À la carte on the menu cards astounds.

    Desolé - my French, it is melancholic.

    Stargazer's art is metamorphic.

    His love is fantastic,

    It bloats to float.

    It crawls to roar.

    It is subjective to the objective.

    A kind of metastatic euphoria.

    A kind, a mind that is ideally romantic towards its own feelings.