The thought, perception, feeling and memory
are the outcome of my choices, beliefs and experiences.
The truth is subjective and sometimes can be tragic.
She dresses in black and her dorsal anatomy is a sensuous enigma.
Her face has an expression of insecure compulsion.
Her voice insinuates a measurable universe somewhere inside her breasts.
My mind creates a conceptual distortion.
There is nothing out there, she is an illusion.
A toy of the mind, a product of my thoughts.
Perhaps, she is consciousness itself, nevertheless she is.
In the garden the Spring moves in inch by inch.
I see her face, mouth, hands and breasts,
not her thoughts and consciousness.
I hear her melodic voice and her memory perfumes
every early flower of the garden.
I see my desires among falling starts.
She is the outcome of my beliefs.

H. A. 3/27/2018 USA.

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