Fragrances are the decalcomania of elegant flowers on our olfaction.
Butterflies are the flowers decalcomania in motion,
and bees are their decalcomania, on our palates,
another flower yard of glee.
Something so fair as flowers
reflect with the same fascination
upon any surface she lays eyes on.
Beauty
always reflects beautifully.
Beauty is not in the eyes of beholder.
Beauty is her,
he discovers in all his senses.
Beauty is independent.
Beauty exist whether it is tangible or not.
The eyes of beholder brings "the performer" out,
the star, the inner diamond, the inner demon,
that does not need to shine
but it would if it is reflected
than
it cut through the glasses of shine
and fracture them to spectrums.
O it is so beautiful,
the marriage of diamonds and shine.
The echo of an oases in the mirage of motions,
for they are sheer and pure
when the freedom is not quantified
in its quintessence.
