PSYCHEDELIC ORCHIDS

Motionless caryatid
I am,
waiting
For a poem to touch the ground from the stars,
From those fantastic nebulae,
Where each dream mingles with another.
It goes astray
a poem
Among withered astral routes
That even time has disowned,
that even God has removed
From an inextricable plexus,
In a yearning longing for infinity.
Life runs,
crazy,
fast.
Life flows,
anarchic,
despotic.
The soul is a cosmic vortex
and Love,
Love is
ambrosia of the desert,
theobroma of illusion.
Those days,
no longer belong to me,
today only evanescent rhapsodies
of a cry gone.
But life
is also this.
Tears of an existence,
acrid,
parched of smiling faces.
Time passes away
always with a burden of anxiety.
The mind cannot help 
newly proposing to me
your sweet, beautiful face.
And meanwhile, the breeze
breathes and plays
with the almond trees,
with the peach trees,
colorful and fragrant,
of our garden.
Suddenly it swirls
a kaleidoscope in the sky.
Psychedelic orchids,
a synesthesia of you.