the white space is painted of moving lines, transient circles transforming into hues, complementing the rambunctious pulse of the evening stereo.
i hear the beat; it speaks of the moving distance as you gyrate into the epiphany of your madness - a collapsing melody made between you and the secrecy i hold within.
the crowd becomes a flood of unknown shadows, emphasizing the movement of your hips and the envy of that one that holds them.
i am your shadow and that becomes me, until the sunrise voluntarily sweeps the madness within, until the hips slip into its day fall, until i become a person, distinct and whole,
yet unknown.
No comments:
Post a Comment