The Anatomy of the Dream
The Anatomy of the Dream
Silences are born from thighs that breathe in violet purple,
your shoulders are waves that die in the net of the blinded butterfly,
your hair sings because sleep is a prey that runs through it,
the eyelid blooms because the wind is a wound that heals itself.
The hand howls in the night for silence is too bright to sleep,
the ears hunger for sounds that have not been born yet anywhere,
the shoes laugh because thinking is a perpetual falling upward,
the shoulders fly late because time is a weight that floats.
If the hand is silent it is because the seashell screams inside it,
the veins run from fear for the nightshade ages their youth,
the calf listens to leaves that die before they are ever born,
the blood foams because shadows drink light from their own void.
The hand screams dying for life is an explosion that implodes slowly,
the shadow flutters burning because fire is the only water that cools,
the nail stands on violet curtains like on a window closed open,
the foot neighs of clouds because the sky is horses galloping below.
The lungs doze in darkness for light is an exhaustion too loud,
the shoulders strangle because of trees that breathe our unseen air,
the hip is the panther that sleeps with eyes open dreaming of the hunt,
your body is the orchestra that plays silence after the music has faded.
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