Brown star-sparkeling eyes smiled at you
in an unexpectedly marvelous night.
The misty coffeedrunken morning after explodes
in churchbells-ringing sunshine
and suddenly it all makes perfect nonsense.

Dali's biography painted on Pink Floyd sounds
8 miles high your mind's flying in the sky
your head's turning fast, balancing
with glas shoes on the tone step composition of
tommorrow nights music in stone garden memories.

Were these eyes just reflecting a hidden
fragment of the past?