I think of each passing moment, like the rain from time to time, drops of water from the sea, much rain at midnight, without time to think, or look at the clock, without time to see myself in the mirror child in the rain, there is only time to sleep and dream. For the currents of memory to travel through the unconscious, a journey to inner city, to that unknown part where you can not reach awake. Sleep is like a train moving through the forest, a journey through dark streets, bridges and hidden corners, dazzling mountains, a city without shadows. It is sailing on the open sea and waking before the shipwreck, it is kissing you and not feeling your lips, caressing you and letting my fingers slip into your fullness, embracing you in the void of light. I like the reality of matter feeling the sweetness in your lips, blossoming the warmth of your skin warming me from the cold,...
My blog is dedicated to poetry.