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轻衣社·浮云 文 / 沈鱼

乌云还可下一场雨,浮云都是空虚
说与不说,都与价值无涉,正如春燕呢喃、梨花絮语
而我对风,答非所问,又有什么关系

浮云,你是理解我的,正如你理解乌有的香气
粉彩无形,并不由心,信手涂抹的并非都是心迹
你有所表达而我不可倾诉,就是这样
流水的心碎约等于明月的悲哀
而你的自闭症,约等于
我的忧郁学

浮云的本意只是路过,而我伸出手去
触摸的,却是你的鬓角,和轻衣
这多么媚俗,仿佛我掏空了肺腑却还做出一首断肠之诗
Drifting Clouds·Light Garment Society Tr Lush Greenness


Dark clouds may as well cause a rain, while drifting clouds consist of imaginary
spaces.

Talking or not is unconcerned about the values, just as spring swallows twitter
and pear blossoms whisper.
But I give an irrelevant answer to wind gossips—a matter of no consequence.

Drifting clouds, you'd understand me, exactly as you do to fragrant nihility.
Pastel colours appear amorphous, but not heartfelt, and random daubing, not from
the assured motives.
All you intend to express will not be what I incline to pour out. Thus
Flowing water’s broken heart approximately equals to the bright moon's sadness
And your autistic disorder is approximately equal to
My melonchology.

Floating clouds desire to pass by, when I reach my hand out
Only to touch strands of hair on your cheek, and your gossamer underwear--
A nearly vulgar act, as if I write a woeful verse by exerting myself inside out.

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