I still remember
how the bird of madness
used to sit on the branches of liberty
in the wild
while I would stay wide-awake
in the outskirts of your panoramic eyes.
Lying on the lock of your hairs
underneath the passion tree,
listening to the notes
your heart sang with love to me,
as the moony truffle would begin to melt
upon the lips of the night
was my idea of escaping for the summer.
On the verge of this beautiful dream,
a mythical serpent kissed your soul,
and burned it in the flames of lies.
In that moment you forgot,
once we held hands
to write our destiny across the universe
with wand made up of stars.
