My skin
On your skin
And
Some symphonies
In between.

After you’ve eaten
Your macarons,
A class of angels
Are now randomly building medieval bridges
Connecting the paths of falling crumbs.

Meanwhile,
I’m plunging deeper,
As if sinking
Into a steep green berkenmeyer glass
painted by Willem Heda and full
Of soft, warm jellyfishes
So sleek to touch
That I also fall into a slumber,
Without noticing
When I have begun starting dreaming.