nights and days, days and nights;
shifting present consciousness to series of past events,
as if those were to be relived.
Sensation heightens each time the images recollect,
strikes like the first encounter –
a sudden rush of strange warm feelings flooding
all over the yearning soul.
Slowly develops the impossible,
reaching the out of reach,
touching the out of touch;
pushing self-serving bias to a new extreme.
Much old sanity is off the scene;
one foot deep in the closed past,
another one stepping into the open future
leave behind the trembling moment of present.
Survival takes no light toll -
of bits and pieces reverse
in secret pleasure, in secret tears;
in motion to tango alone in shadows.
Still. Voluntarily to be corrupted by the memory,
nights and days, days and nights;
taking to heart the warm embrace,
the taste of the last tango, once more.
Credit: Alison_Scarpulla, MiqueBrightside, Free_bliss, Oliver_Morris, katieeleanor
in the dedication to a special person to me.
