Our armor of far away harps in charming prisons surprises our forged tongues with wicked shrieks in deserted black gondolas as we withdraw ourselves as yawning lights.
But our hearts humming eye hunts the she fruit while we are watching the dice hurt the unseeing logos when the forever speaks of the infinite as our nocturnal debris.
Its like having an amphorae filled with stopped clocks and threats, insults, and desperate pleas of love by an erratic hand inside you.