quatre mains

And the beating heart. Like a four-hands we play the chorus. No embarrassment. You'll not want me.
And what's over there? It's the four-hands played in vain between you and me. It's the beating heart.

The age of feelings.
We don't care when we reinvent them every time like an inexhaustible battery, both ecological and sordid.
It is the recycling of love. Brief and intense.
I am looking at you. What are you waiting for?