Abstract.
If a painting could, as a fragrant symphony. Fighting between the brush and fallen in water impermeable lie in limbo.
dark and brunette, busty female appointed to rock the night. That nurtures dreams of a starry mantle infant.
Innocent, sensual. Dangerously innocent.
A game indigo blue and pale, but warm and wet, like the taste of warm wind that cuts through the face. We claim that a baby cries, shrill. Even.
E 'without sex, against the soul.
And then one day, in mild pleasure of what we can only see in the distance, it just shows. Simple
housing. An illusion.
No matter. Faded, ripped at the corners, as old as history rewritten by the time of times.
nonexistent knight in armor, perhaps to the art of a war of ideas and ideals, its mission is know to exist.
Blind, deaf, void without regrets.
soul in impressionistic aura.
stolen and sold.
whore, unfaithful, that nobody knows. A set of colors, a few, essential, one for the lucky ones. A few shows. And even less.
Ramata, like the blood of those killed in an unequal struggle and never won.
Odorosa under the rubble of an unconscious state that always needs to be rocked, fed, bathed, seen, touched, deluded.
body. A painting at an auction in which wrought plot lies the secret.
Mystery.
0 comments:
Post a Comment