Orange shorts touch the

wavy floor, stars shy away

From my reminiscence, as

I walk towards my salad

Of crazy nostalgic

Platonized memories.

I flirt, and laugh with them

In an attempt of

Sacrecy, or volunteer

Appreciation for my brave

Sights. As if I could

Someday kiss their

Glossy toughness, I reach

The corner of its

Brightness, skimming

Through its lighting sounds.

Ah, I wished my love

I could one day

Leave it behind, and

Come to cry.

Pain it takes to face, and

Touching the stars, I stay

In vain, far from planes,

Freezing in my bottle

Of conjugational

tragedy.

Leave your pain here

Safe with me, go

And never return