And here I am, sitting.
Minute after minute,
a wound in my pupils,
behind the dark
hues of the leaves,
in a mystagogic
contemplation of you.
In intercourse,
in a metaphysical swing,
soar oneself
into the universe of existence.
How I long to explain to you,
in what way,
in the contours
of a dark recess,
I learned
not to be afraid
of that which is vacuous,
trying to keep existence hanging,
on the stamen of
prosaic equilibriums.
All rights belong to its author. It was published on e-Stories.org by demand of Mauro Montacchiesi.
Published on e-Stories.org on 10/24/2016.
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