My angel gives senses to a skinless witch
He's the fructifier of a barrel soul
Special glasses for a magic virtual reality
What is it that I see?
What is it that I hear?
How can this love flourish in me?
Such, sane, but pointless questions
I choose to disregard
Rather occupy myself
With sharpening my existence
So to preserve these hearing and seeing
But what I could not neglect
Is taking in a closed heart
As the so called God supposedly said
When something is neither hot nor cold
But warmish
I rather puke it out my mouth
Still, if only...
If only that embrace
Had chance to take place
In the right time and space
Maybe after all
We would not efface
