Where Love And Delirium Hurl Their Fatal Stones

Η μπλε λουλουδι του Novalis καυση σε σκια σας

In the passageway between light and dark, where you align yourself in molecular fashion against her linen seductively smoldering in the grass, where the dew-igniting armatures, with their Quetzal tails, dazzle the voyeurs in their dream kingdoms, fermenting beneath the shimmering tables of feral potions and elixirs... where knives are kissing. Only her shadow remains in the wetness of noon, strung between the magnetic poles of disorientation and sheer bliss... It is all dressed in one fell swoop. Spectacles are discarded...