Still Nature

Your look, only, burned my withered shirt
Whereas all I did I left you sleeping with the glasses
On your face in order to see your dreams on the net
Instead of running over another further dream
In the climax of your stained dream with gay colors
, that would melt under the first shower of tears,
I introduced a hot color to warm your bed
And to soften your bald brush
I depended hopefully on our common background
, the firm gilded frame that contained our picture together
And the soft lines that were never cut
But you went too far
Taking much of my details
Making my tales a still nature
You forgot they could shout in your face
You handed me over to the cold moment
, as a model naked of any resistance,
With its eyes exploring my skin
And its imagination wading into my heart
Looking for a red point to get it nearer to the centre
Of the picture
So, why are you in panic?
As you are standing before a massacre of colors,
A naked body, an open heart, poured blood
And sweaty shyness
Now, can you draw a picture of me
, with interest, from the memory?