Ataraxia - Aquarello Lyrics
Your hands and my words trace circles,Lines, volutes, assonances,Fragrances of sonorous abstractionsAtmospheric nuances,Tenuous impalpable motions of spinging chords;Cerulean, overseas-blues hover and twistIn floating constellations"We open the dance like unusualcomedians or sylvestrianinterpreters of a bizarre picture."