Nothing
but a whimsical and nowhere bound play with the melody of words.
A gentle wind(ow) whispers in despair
That losing you could only be compared
To losing sight of all the joyful streets
Swept in the morning by the marching fleets
Of thousands steps who’d love to meet each other
Like “you” and “me” before we met another
So treacherous and gender-vague pronoun
That trapped us both with tricks of artful clown,
‘Cause nothing’s like before I’ve tasted those lips,
And you’ve surrendered to those luscious courtships ...