How can my thoughts

be

so utterly simple,

yet so complex

at its own?

My thoughts form

platonic solids

in a non-euclidean space,

a space of curvature

and wonders.

The sphere,

my perfect little ball of paradoxes;

You are so simple,

yet so complex

like platonic solids themselves…

I’m living in hidden hemispheres;

how can I escape my personal horizons

if my thoughts are

perfect platonic solids

dancing on spheres?