《The Millenium Of Luna Flora》Wrinkles
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We don't talk anymore..... Because eyes have codified their respective languages beyond each other's understanding..
The flowers that bloom in your garden have shown much justice to their love for time for they with his touch either wrinkle into his labrynth resting peacefully in the vase or descend it's way to the ground like a melancholy note... He honour them with his touch and never fail to lapse on his duties...
Their coexistence synthesis love...
Our coexistence have been resting on a realm of obligations promoting oblivion..
The canvas I got to paint our love are so full of wrinkles that every time a colour traverse.. it comes face to face with an obstruction..
Our kind of wrinkles are no love of flower for the pioneer of time.. namely death...
Our wrinkles are plain obstructions stripping us of feelings .... emotions... ultimately life
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