A universe with laced dresses
Hanged on trees with chosen souls,
Then abandoned on bone boxes.

A universe with looks and bodies,
With fires and carbon, with stars and sun,
Because all of them burn under frail touches.

A universe with squares and rounds,
All of them spinning, playing, jumping,
Without life or death, without being.

A universe with colored flowers
Or on the ground painted with soul
And sweet whispers left as a title.

A universe with dance and art
And faces without words or being,
With silent pleasure or suffering.

A new universe, ambiguous, where humans don't exist.