Aquarello - Ataraxia



Your hands and my words trace circles,

Lines, volutes, assonances,

Fragrances of sonorous abstractions

Atmospheric nuances,

Tenuous impalpable motions of spinging chords;

Cerulean, overseas-blues hover and twist

In floating constellations



"We open the dance like unusual

comedians or sylvestrian

interpreters of a bizarre picture."



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