ATARAXIA


Aquarello Lyrics

Your hands and my words trace circles,
Lines, volutes, assonances,
Fragrances of sonorous abstractions
Atmospheric nuances,
Tenuous impalpable motions of spinging chords;
Cerulean, overseas-blues hover and twist
In floating constellations

"We open the dance like unusual
Comedians or sylvestrian
Interpreters of a bizarre picture."

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