Cold texture of pure poetry
Falling romantic on the street,
you, snow of this troubled winter,
Warm up my heart.
Unexpected and desired,
You infused magic in a routine too calculated
And hands that only work,
And do not caress enough.
Tag: calculation
Tickling brain
Numbers in the table,
Like kids holding hands in a line,
Show me the direction
While tickling my brain
In this hide-and-seek game.
The pull and magic of the hidden trend
Make me a solo artist
Behind the curtain of an unapologetic stage.
Improvisation
I move my hands with care
But my eyes look at the future
As if it was more appealing
When certain.
Adrenalin and serotonin
Swim in improvisation and quick responses
Candid like swans
But frantic like their paws
Under the water.