yellow

And if the moon is waltzing on the dark grave of little diamonds, then the ocean is an art of looking through the mirror of jealous jewelry

I was half seated on the shelf waiting for rolling horses, listening for the beginning of the song. My daydream slowly drifts from clay candles to gazing clocks. The holy tears of the marching clouds fills the sky and the golden light turns into silver wax, when time, in his stationary throne, stands still as if the world is a castle made of sands. The wind, in her wooden chariot, screams of delicate dreams.

A flightless flower in magnolia dress flew gently beside the fence i built. She folded my world like paper boats.
Her halo eyes are home to the stars which played the little strings of melody in my chest. Torturous eyes more elegant than the world beneath her feet. I lost myself at the back of my head.

She took her shoes off, and danced behind the tiny rain. She was spinning around like sea carousels in fairy tales. A never ending sonata of rippled waves. A single drop of changing season. She fell to the worthless ground. She stared at me and I did likewise. An awkward pause of curious chance. I walked to her and gave her a dull hand.

We danced with the rain in the middle of the street and splashed around in the melted sunny morning. Nothing really mattered except me to be with her. But when I look into her eyes, all I see is the string of my puppet heartbeats. Exaggerated memories of smart reality.