in the field of the semblance on the lapel of being

 makes the earth to the feet the air to the hands the light to the bowl of the eyes the space to the silence to the escape the deceit there we were on the lookout when outside the drive of the bed we were not in the look nor in the tasty smell when the meat sounds is that you are wearing me as a valid complement in the field of semblance on the lapel of being