Impossible is.

I've just painted my nails with a bloody red.
Suddenly, something seems displaced and vanished.
A soul is now being forced to dance around and between your dirty and guilty hands. Those hands, that once, met my lips, my hips and my chest, like a divine touch. Once, celestial. Magical. My body is lost. Someone lost it, when someone should have protected it and saved it no matter what, when or how. Impossible: is now to find in the complex and puzzled mind.
Impossible: is to penetrate the castle that locks the path.
The Path. The unknown path, for fighters and lovers. They're eternal soulmates with a single mission: keep the body away from those hands. Guilty hands! Eternal search of the body. Our body.