Your shadow blends with pop art colors,
Passing nonchalantly on the silvery pavement,
my artist is a superb child who knows it all,
Turner is your name and you paint the light,
the rhythm fades away as you start your song,
Morisson and Warhol secluded in a theatre show,
our souls pass these velvet streets,
we become characters with smocking pipes
and gold hair falling in the wind.

pop art you dream,
the curtains reveal the sad tone of this night,
my love, your surrealist hands melt me,
just smile in this baroque world

fantastical moments in cloudy castles,
two couples dancing endlessly
in this detaching painting

young and naked in freedom
never secluded from truth-
I love my velvet streets in early Spring.