A stone as heroic as flesh insinuates our new birth. As fresh. As yesterday's deathlessness learns to trust an aroused whisper as certainty is impossible or the only thing. Affection everywhere like oxygen and paramour. A stone standing on the borderline between the animal and the divine, a stone as verbal as flesh. Flash to the image of a talking moan packed into roses that show up on the bruises from the struck through blues blood. I just knew it. That his love was strangely alive as though destined to remain a child to the end of time. And time never ends. Giving everything the air of supurb originality as an omen of beauty which disguises the union between surfaces and depths. And only love has saved each revelation from the madness of opinions, only love can do that.
