feeling, flowing free and fleeting,
floating swimming on waves of neurons
pulsing skipping, somersaulting,
up, down and around resounding
in cogito or incognito, wrapped enveloped
till a drowsy psyche wishes
or willful consciousness
put more meaning
each road a different scenario
rapport by lexis or gesture
clothed the naked feeling
with fine raiment and ornament
Deco, Art Nouveau. or Rococo
tones of Gregorian or jazz
glimmering suns and cotton clouds
silky and diaphanous ethereal transparent
send, evoking embracing the spirit,
ah me, I do run off, what if the
touch was a mere accident a simple
contact of coarse physical, neither
intended nor unintended?
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Shimon its a nice piece about the multifaceted-strands of touch sense running from the oblivion into the currents of present...