I have been walking our oceans again,
having held on forever to the hope of knowing
the dialogue of the tides.
The clouds never spoke pounding melodies,
only echoes into the nothing.
The stars whispered a lie that tells the truth:
You waited, praying to fireflies, and
I wanted to be someone else.
You're never touching anything,
singing me oblivion and creating destiny
with a void dance and erotic spills:
eloquent tradition like petals and leaves.