It was once said that
Blue is the color of ecstacy
My dreams are full of the lush moss of trees
The world is seemingly frail
With every touch it grows more purple
This vortex of self-consuming entropy
This menagerie of distorted mirrors
A female visage is blowing a soft breeze by the ocean
As the morning dreams itself awake
The seasons are meant to arrive like angels
Let the curtains unfurl themselves
As cotton as the nights
Like waves resembling tiles on the sea
