The lonely memory of the swing

When eyes look. When life is printed. Inner footprint. Inside the road. From its stops. From the abandoned steps. Open heartbeat of the road. Whistles from passersby. Strange mountains in the belly of the valleys populated by islands. The lonely memory of the swing of black nights, of bedroom auroras. Low-ceilinged dinners. Purple sheets tied to the drain from the window.

SubIrrealism in a mirror. Random intratextuality.