Imperfections

Sparks are living in you and they set off within imperfections of two faceted stones, that won‘t fit with one another. Sometimes I still don't see... How it works, this attraction: it declines, and again it recovers. In me linden has bloomed, there was many spring rain, filling puddles again with new hopes. While the soft ground was trying to make a captured spark sprout, even the whistling got lost in the tree tops. Well, along all your words are inaudible. How it mimics the melody, mimics the bird- it attempts to repeat, to invite the light in. Fish emerge from the depth of the puddles gasping words, but a sound resides in the lungs. We're so random. So, my dear, how it works, are we even a match? Will it live with my shyness, will it breath in all thoughts. I own beings of shadows with no shape by themselves, overflowing serenity in dark ravine, without struggles of light they won’t dance, they won’t melt. I still blow you a petal to catch.