Today I would sleep between these two yellow lines.
Feet towards South, face towards hinterlands and soul towards roads.
Some people splinter lights from their broken pieces,
just to make them, the swirl of symphony and longings.
But hichiking through the dense galaxy I have lost the real or the flying entity.
Just the orchestra now, quiescent and intangible.
Hypothermic emotions are never exotic,
but i have slept naked on this path and dreamed about flickering nerves,
grasping nipples and eloquent eyes.
I would die over and over again just to behold these side views of uneven and hysterical motility.