Trauma

Your face reflects the perfect palette of color to my eyes; tinted by light refracted off the glass spheres screwed onto the street lamps. A quixotic maelstrom raps around our bodies and binds our souls to this focal point of sinuous emotions; rising from this dark concrete like large billowing blankets spun from love. The plethora of ice crystals continues to revolve around our hearts and cuts us like small pieces of sorrow, yet we bleed a symphony of fervor, embellishing this wasteland with blinding rays of life. Temperatures plummet as cold winds sever our ardor like smoke dispersed by flapping hands. Death visits, but is driven away by the benign disposition of our luminous spirit.

And even though our bodies lay pale in the eyes of Gaia, we will not depart until morning arrives, which will inhale our effulgent love, realizing that death has spared our souls. Morning will return us to Mother Nature as one, burying our remains under a frozen tree and cementing our essence in the endless plaque of those that have returned to the earth. We will speak no more, but love will bind us in death as it did during that short span of existence, lost in space and time. We will hold each other in a hereafter, emitting an ineffable radiance in warm embrace, and span the endlessness of infinity.

In eternity there will be no factors that diminish the value of our love, lead us into a tumult of rejection, and heave us onto the cold pavement, plagued by physical compression.

In eternity we will be blessed, and the sunshine that pours itself on our ethereal souls will revel in knowing that it never previously beheld an entity so dazzling.















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A mi no me importa nada
Para mi la vida es un sueño