Men

The witch distortions
He's a stag
A woodland prince
An imp of desire
A demon
Asmodeus
He's an efreet
He's human

There's frames of time between us
Between this paper and me
His face is like cinema unfolding before me

Frame by frame
His face
It's beautiful

The room is breathing
There's a lag between thinking and feeling
There's a world of meaning between every word
Focus
You cannot focus

Graduating from his face to the rest of the room
Psychedelic, temporal
You're struggling
Struggling to remember this
To hold on to these flickering moments of time
You're losing something you can't even mourn
Temporal
Everything feels temporal
Temporal

I can't tell if I'm warm or not
We're on a tent
Under a blanket
Experiencing all of this in comfort
Sitting by the fire
Puzzling existence under blankets and all
Words can't convey...
The serenity?
The bliss?
The peace
Whatever.

You're literally trying to construct meaning
It's taking so long
A boat! We're on a boat
On a sea of sensory experience

Dragonflies
It all flies away like dragonflies

What will you think tomorrow when you read this?
What rubbish?
Volumes of sensation
Volumes of feeling
Locked away in these pages
Are we at the end of the trip yet?
Heartbeats
The room has a heartbeat

Rubbish = When you're drunk
But it's different now, now = Meaning is all Funky.

Learned wisdom
Do we all trip the same way?

I'm experiencing the music in a way I've never felt before
You feel the breaths
The sound entering and leaving the room
The rhythm you float in
That it lulls you into this
Hypersleep of the mind
Gosh.
The aura of the song
This is what they must've felt
The aura

This boat could go deeper
But we choose to thread in safe waters tonight.
I'm being hypnotised by the paper.

I have him close his eyes, as the beginning of ODESZA's A Moment Apart sets in. We breathe the same rhythm, ache for the same vision. We share something, even if only for sacred moments. Amid roman columns, under shivering stained glass, in the violet light...