summer in your arms
What can be done, when
the soul is led by the winds of the seasons,
like if it's a locomotive full of buds‽
What can be done when
the heart is breathing the rainbows, even if
the snowflakes are still dancing outside‽
Where to direct them, when
the blood boils into the veins, while their act
seems as if something stumbling them
in a landscape with the ambiance of summer,
choked into a stalking gaze‽
Why, when so many butterflies are flattering
in the dew of the moon, the feeling it is as if
they're caught in a frozen light‽
How many questions are unavoidable, when
inside me, you're already the favorite season
out of the thousands of dreams, while I am,
like a flake in summer, in your arms, melted‽
