*On the barren
head of this plateau,
you're the midpoint.
A curious moon peeps
from the curve
of your neck,
flooding the
shoulders of solitude.
With a cello
between legs,
and a bow made
of moonbeams
you string those
rare beads of a tune.
Birth of sound
makes the sleeping
auras trembled.
Ancient souls explode,
fragmented forces
drink fresh
transcendence.*
Feb 12, 2017
Feb 12, 2017 at 9:05 AM UTC
*On the barren
head of this plateau,
you're the midpoint.
A curious moon peeps
from the curve
of your neck,
flooding the
shoulders of solitude.
With a cello
between legs,
and a bow made
of moonbeams
you string those
rare beads of a tune.
Birth of sound
makes the sleeping
auras trembled.
Ancient souls explode,
fragmented forces
drink fresh
transcendence.*
