The epitome of perfection and breeding ground of the beautiful celestial collisions, it came to me lately that her neck has no belongings to here. There is anything but melancholy in this sad city yet her neck screams out lullabies of happiness and beauty. It belongs somewhere far away, where sadness doesn’t enter. Where flowers sing the songs of the weary Sun and birds chirp in the language of drunken poetry. There are times when she holds the furious demons and cages them onto her nape and then, there are those when she sets them free and the brown of her hair reflects the dark beauty of her enigma, difficult to grasp yet inevitably beautiful and, absolutely poetic to me.
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Muse:
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