These Eyes Echo Twilights

When our pupils are parallel
they emit eclipses, and echo twilights
to the world which stops to exist.

We infused so much of our own blood,
into eight-lobed petal of blackness, that it will bleed out,
yet, existing through veins of that flower
is more real than everything that this cosmos has to offer.

We together feed parasites
of our own lucidity.
In sunset,
two arch-organisms engender antibodies
trough which they continue to exist.

Few words of hers are needed
to disembowel any shape of pessimism,
her fingers massacre paranoia
and bury phobias.

Without her, I am another unit
in universe of zeros and ones.

Twilights echo,
and echo implants hope deep into the soul.
There is no more harmonic melody than one
which we together sang.
There is no more beautiful dream
than one in which she dreamt me.
There are no more perfect eyes
than one which are hers, and which echo twilights.