I don't know if it was midnight or it was shadow

 You picked me up in the bed of dreams. An almost non-existent day. A second of memory. He was spinning in the void. From the harmony chaos glimpsed. To see beyond the uncertain, infinite invisible side of love. (Although, sometimes, it comes out through peteneras.) It comes out of the clay turned into stone. I don't know if it was midnight or it was shadow. From the origin, shadow. And hope waiting for the rock to dissolve with the first winds.

Palimpseste sur painting. Mirror Sub-Irrealism. Random intratextuality.