Whisky Tea

What I wish to speak, every endeavor would dilute the essence like Plato’s forms. Can a shadow imitate heat? Lost in translation, best to keep simple, lucid as a hand stroking cheek. But hands slightly tremble in the slightest of moments, shadows you can’t help but witness in your vision’s corner, however brief. I crave to show what I can’t speak in purest form, then collect all potential meanings as if each held the key to all secrets beneath every star that gleams. If time’s an illusion, what of me? Simple queries hold the key to grand possibilities. Everything’s trembling now.. We can only touch what seems. He touches her, she touches he. What is there but revelry in unkempt distribution? The patterns of art, songs of new and old, mock solutions and whisky in a cup of tea. But there in silence we see the thing in itself. Softly tugging your sleeve. Kiss me harder, and softer. Hold me tighter, and longer. Dream.