the winding roads in my dreams
smell like angel's wings and fear,
but the descent into reality
gives off a scent resembling
the sun is a topaz melon
and my hopes wear the same
as the upcoming minutes;
those whiskers are drenched
in warm memories,
while this cup of blackened energy
encompasses fiery passion,cherries,turmoil:
am I a slave to my senses'
so I believe...
change is pure and akin to overwhelming flowers.
water echoes a minty turquoise.
jewelry mirrors a golden bond.
every road has its own fragrance
and every day delivers another bouquet
into my hands.
the narrow streets from inside my being
contain thousands upon thousands of perfumeries
that only time can