With a Venus Flower

Slowly,
I let my eyelids drop.
My mind begins its descent.
It begins to travel the deep, winding bends,
of the secret, impenetrable paths of my labyrinth.
My mind doesn't see,
my mind has perceptions,
objectively evident of that reality that it does not see.
My mind has synaesthetic perceptions,
of the darkness that it does not see,
of the cold that it does not feel,
of the moisture that does not penetrate it.
Then, desperately, at the bottom of my labyrinth,
my mind perceives a trap door that disintegrates,
a trap door that makes it fall even further,
beyond that bottom that
one believed to be an insuperable border.
A maelstrom magnetizes my mind,
and sucks it up in the perception of Bentos
and there, paradoxically,
in a kaleidoscope of metazoans,
it sees, hears, inebriates with a Venus flower,
cherished by tepid waters.
This Venus flower,
this symbol of eternal love,
gave hope back to my mind,
that wandered on a surface moor,
that sank,
that didn't hit rock bottom just because it went,
through, beyond the bottom.
My mind was to be magnetized by a whirlpool,
to discover, understand,
that everywhere, unexpectedly,
one can find love.