His eyes are not too big, they only seem to have a life of their own, by a huge steel pulse of magic framing their smiling contour. Always they seem to be very humid, just a little worn out and tired, a quality that makes them glow.
After all that time, soaking in the coming and going waves, daylight and moonlight all collide in his gaze.
Just shyly hidden behind his neon tropic hair.
If there was a smell to reek from his fingers, from his skull, thatd be of a cool 4pm sunlight at the beach; the damp breeze sheltering and driving your nose insane by the candy colored shots of light and polite sandy smell.
Theres not a possible way to end this testament, but by putting myself in the position of the guillotine. Loose it, Come off head! ¿what good you do me up there?
If sand, wind, storm and drang, they all venture plunging to my chest, in the quest that`ll only kill.
That`ll only shock the veins,
still calling you: “hot dry wind, blow right through! blow right through me time, pass me by past!”
Render me untouched, unburned, to be but a newborn again, and start off from the same place, for the first time.
