Aquarello Lyrics - Ataraxia
Your hands and my words trace circles,
Lines, volutes, assonances,
Fragrances of sonorous abstractions
Tenuous impalpable motions of spinging chords;
Cerulean, overseas-blues hover and twist
In floating constellations
"We open the dance like unusual
comedians or sylvestrian
interpreters of a bizarre picture."
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