Last night i fell in love with your shoelaces .

Can you hear it ...
my soul is singing .

The fotosynthesis of the human soul on a sunny autumnday.

thoughts ... like weights
               ... like balloons.

Trough the poem we touch the soul of the universe .
A man needs a muse.

Un instant au pont je l'ai vu.
 Save elle etre née dans cette regard, qu'elle existe vraiement ?
The lips that pose a question
worldless transferring the invisible butterfly.
You could hear it's wings flapping in my heart for weeks now.
A curtain of rain drapped around an oval eye,
is it sorrow that makes a fertile ground?
Like Chagall singing in his kitchen
while his wife floats around the room
with burning lips.
The world has different layers
one of them is poetry.
The flesh might be gone
but the bone of love is strong
one day we're gonna grow ourselves
a new skin.

a winter's sky lit
with towers of cold
eyes like frozen windows
i see her walking down
great Prussian stairs
the palace whispers
histories colours from within
hanging trough the daylight
the cloth of the ancient sin
into the blackest night
flower of destruction
syllabel of flight
into the tree of a landmark
saphire systems of spinning wishes
the machine corrupts
a towering system
a cubist fountain
spitting icecubes
dazzling monstreous
taking deep breath
into the annagrams
we 'll slowly forget
how to read fingerprints
on eternal stained windows
of dedication smelling a
rosestand on fire
collapsing cathedral of thought.