She moves her hand
with an arpeggio
as she remembers the stars on her skin.
there is the motion of her eyes,
with the harp of her voice
composing the songs –
From promises to words,
From embraces to poetry.
She moves along.
Travelling on the road towards some street
where the truth is she turns swoons into odes.
I am the victim.
and she is the author of her beauty as she moves
the legatos of her body.
spelling out words in staccato.
29th of the 1st, 2015