On the Cross

reinfatuating of sordid memories we lay there back to back away from the realities like penguins on ice city is a flame dancing like a butterfly we are all strangers here we could be feathers floating on thin air on the magical world of love do we really care torn between science and art i am on the cross twisting rocketing spinning like a reckless top euthanesia i am tired food is delicious this poem is dedicated to ARTHUR for inspiring me to write again