Christóforos
Branches of destiny
Vine of souls
Canvas of beauty
Yet fortune and fame are your goals.
Withheld and delicate
You blossom on the surface
Red hot mystery lingering...
Picking at my bones
Bland and stable in the crowd
Individual eyes of happiness or torment?
Hair feathered white around the cycle
Commanding yet subtle and sound
Souls drowned in white hot lust
Souls starving for emotion slick fulfillment
Being strong and capable
Serendipity of the mind’s eye.
