I plunge into you like the sea, Disappearing in the vast expanses, On the waves of pleasure, I swim Drowning in the midnight delirium. I wander through your reliefs, I caress the tongue of the gorge, Walking along the hills of the peaks, And for the first time, I study you. I explode with rampant lava, Cover the surface with magma— Here is such a mischievous verse man, Your desired flame, your favourite mystery!
# Verse Man I am the man of verses, born in the alphabet's womb, cradled by consonants, lullabied by vowels. My father was a metaphor, my mother, a simile— they never truly married, only danced around each other in the margins of meaning. I learned to walk on meter, to speak in stanzas, to think in rhyme schemes that no one else could hear. The world calls me mad, but I hear symphonies where they hear only silence. I see cathedrals in the space between two words. My blood is ink. My bones are punctuation. My heart beats out the rhythm of forgotten songs. I am the man of verses— neither quite real nor entirely imagined, standing always in that trembling place where language learns to dream.
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