The art of neverending me

Once
He was neither a man nor a woman. He was sexless, without a face, only a moving massive lump, looking forward in passing his time. All alone in his myriads jungle of thoughts.
He could not speak and would know nothing about communicating.
All day he would stare at the trees.
He waits.

A man
So successful in life that he thinks
God is his assistant
For he was the one that make everything happens.
The superior reigns and that threshold, long has he surpassed it.
He no longer dreams
Cos he is the lord of granting dreams.
He glares

She is by far
The fairest and the loveliest
And that was an understatement
Attention is a pre-requisite
Wherever she breezes and roams
She's like the wind
Blowing through everything
Forgotten her track of time
Gone into deeper and deeper
She pouts

A set of seven dwarves Siamese twin
How about that
Well that is something else
Vertically challenged and always in a formation
Limits their movements
They have to make do with their existence
So they congregate

He is slick, with double tongue and hisses a lot. He changed his appearances at will and will never be himself everyday. He may be an old witch today and tomorrow as a forgiving child but he never return to his past forms
because he believes
to be eternally original
He hisses.

She is first and foremost a mother; her second nature is a hunter. She has countless children and has set them free almost immediately after they mastered her hunting tricks. She is a cat and sometimes a lion. She closes her eyes.
She purrs.