Springs in our Blooms

Do you remember that you were braiding my hair
and I was breathing
the breath of your hair’s fragrance
braiding my oxygen, my air?

Do you remember
everything between us and the world
was wholeheartedly shared,
just as in the stalk of a butterfly,
where divergences
are paired?

Wherein that togetherness
only beauties and splendour were
aired?
Where the bleeding grandstands of garden
between the blushes of
apple blossoms and Judas trees
were furled and
breathtakingly bared?

Where springs in our blooming
were wholeheartedly declared?

When this world still was fair,
like the love affair of childhood and
her teddy-bear,
silken like a touch of purple dream
softly on the pillow
with two angel wings evenly flared
and compared?

Where moments were floating on time
like a flame on a candle,
like candles,
not suffocating in the past sandals of scandals,
not like sands in the sand machine
of mirror globes, snared?

Where the world was
as spacious as how far in our spirits we dared,
yet on the space between two
which only loneliness could ever forswear?

Do you remember
where we were Michael Angelo
of our Sistine chapel ceilings
upon the devotion vault of our own tender feelings,
where unsculpted sculptures
like in the raw marbles,
could only shelter there?

like the sand machine,
like a rocking fantasy on a fancy rocking chair,
through the flare of our valours and cares
were as much hidden in stones
as they were exposed
like your hair to the open air?

Do you remember?