I reach into the theatre of my own world,
when I closed my eyes.
No tickets, just 3D glasses;
I see those lips like rosebuds peeping out of snow,
Would not want to rest in momentum but
wishing to rest upon yours.
That thunder, those slaughtering rain,
and us…
Slow, tender, smooth, buttery moving
Senses to bone, Egypt to the Rome.
Inside? like a train,
whistling, juggling, building up momentum,
Outside? building up moments.
I can feel the taste of those rain
that grows louder when our tongues curled.
Where the world is half asleep,
I feel the shade we held as our world.
Oh those dripping avalanche under your neck,
I feel like skiing my lips and wish to fall
from that cliff.
Oh mine to the yours, yours to the mine,
beating in a sync,
as our body dances on those riff.
City lights and those witty nights,
Hug tights and butterfly flights.
I felt the interval none to happen.