Migration of bodies

 
A curdled, rotten blood clot in a perforated heart, if it is preparing for a love union, like pasta or overripe sourdough. She who will give of her self a gift, while the other receives With hesitant, panting trembling, she will feel Secrets revealing pasts.

And he whose prodigal, sacred time can no more ache, For he has parted with her and with Nothing, and then willingly agreed to his fate, - His alien body too serves as home-shelter anew. He and she feel their sighing instincts when the budding rose-flower of their bodies opens to the tune of redemptive intoxication. Deep breathing, Edenic journeys begin and end at every possible juncture.

Together they are like an arrow and a bow that can only interact and ally together. Out of a fed-up, amorous turmoil, the clairvoyance of their clairvoyance becomes decisive.

Together they cling to the quivering instincts of the All, while their rings of years tremble with them. The common labyrinth of their two united heartbeats beats tiny but ever more unstoppable - through their sighing molecular footprints they also live through this expressible, cosmic moment.

The secret yet mundane musicality of their crimson lips beckons each other without superstitious words. Never-say-never, they cling to each other in a faithful love that always embraces selflessness. In each other's bodies, a confessional touch or a kiss becomes a naughty game of hide-and-seek.

For perhaps the common and universal law of being for each other has always been more expressive, only the willful blindness has become more and more purposeless. - They sip from each other crystal clear romance on the balmy crimson of dawn.

One of them is a rock of Atlas, the other an oasis in paradise: survival and survival united in their moments.