What if you have loved me for the instance between two soul searching waves. 

The smaller infinity may be…

Three seconds of your eyelashes and the languid ocean, 

dancing over my feet…

Cool air through the wasteland…lights of a shriveled star-lust. 

The mad man doesn’t mince his love…his extraterrestrial sex…his perception inside the revolutionary vagina. 

What if I have loved you only after the third whiskey and some procuring smoke. 

Love can be some bohemian clouds and a red creation between hollow gunshots. 

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