mess

i felt my presence into the silent chaos of his mess,

and the impact on him, in any district that he trod

i felt i am for him, not a closer one, but a concept,

as he transplanted all my faults into a lovely shape

i felt my sighs more true than any truth i live,

deducted arrogantly, as an ironic irony, (because…)

…because he had the boldness to narrow his eyes

by blinding mine with his shimmering darkness

∙

i felt... felt my beauty in the shadow of his thoughts

and his only water in any province he trod

he made... made me feel like an idea and not a poem,

thanks to my flaws, restyled by him into a classy ideal;

even my dreams... my dreams became realer as real

while our truth was only an abstract in bathos, buzzing