sofia

if gardens are the answer, what is the question? i read, and i sleep on it.
next day, passing through the tar, feet solid, head seems to be projecting itself towards the feathers above,
but then physical interaction, inter-hyper-virtual-communication, eyes looking down, at what should i gaze? at what are you gazing into? or falling into? i gaze at you, gracing you. we do not see each other, half-face protection.
cleaning the soil, isolating rocks from the soil because no growth, ripping off, roots on my hands, they are their own fertiliser. fertilize me, i desire. sea weed wrapping my body. fiery patterns all over,

erratical, i take a glimpse of my myself and tremble on the feather floor, chose to, mud and cement past gone, i crawled towards the breezy shiny lake, always projecting, always loving, always drowned, always drained, always collapsed, freezing water whispering,
i put a finger inside my mouth, i taste - me, glowing tongue, sparkling fingers,
cannot describe my taste, why describe all other tastes? no tasting
not moving

the flower is lost, but so too is its habitat
devoid of sorrow, fragrance of desire
and the flowers released their scent
the atmosphere filled with tenderness
yearning from a distance and humiliation
my share of this sympathy
enjoying her splendor and youth
devoid of sorrow
and i
empathetic, convey the beautiful voice and the breeze blows gently.
the branches bowed
sing my love, o’birds.

motherboard of feelings; where is my motherboard? and where is yours?
motherboard is what holds and allows communication between many of the crucial electronic components of a system, such as the central processing unit and memory, and provides connectors for other peripherals.
locate your feelings; i read, and slept on it.
locating my electronic components inside the central processing unit. locating memory, locating many memories,
many i do not recall any longer, many i am windy to recapture.
i sleep next to a printed picture of a blue crystal diamond with a glowy purple and pink on the background. the wallpaper of my processing unit.
i speak slow and sharedly, never sharp enough, and words are beginning to pitch, too many feedback during the day; the streets; - recharging batteries in the garden
we get access to our memories and electrons, we talk about them all the time. the motherboard works circularly,
we locate our feelings in a loop, we try to erase them, empty trash - the memory is full, laying a finger on my mouth to awake desire, starting to feel air blue, ready to - enter -