Sanoja: Kings of convience. Parallel Lines.

What's the immaterial substance
that envelopes two,
that one percieves as hunger
and the other as food.
I wake in tangeled covers,
to a sash of snow,
you dream in a cartoon garden,
I could never know.
Innocent imitation, you are cast in gold,
your image a compensation for me to hold.

Parallel lines, move so fast,
toward the same point,
infinity is as near as it is far.