in love, if you're not losing your mind, it means you waste your time, isn't it? the breast of the muses is scorching… lips bit one other for so much unkissed the small crimes of longing are smiling, laying on my bed, listening to bedding naturally, who's getting mood to write when all body is so as trapped in love

I'm thinking of you. It's true, with short interruptions. Any page of my personal diary is filled with your image. I've stocked you everywhere, but nowhere so well as in my mind and soul. I painted you with fingertips on my body. I sang and called you out. And when I wandered by myself, I knew where to find you. You're in my weirdest/wildest dreams where you waited for me so many times and where you always are like a straitjacket with your arms over my body... — like the only drug that I can digest and that I hardly wait to be brought to me, — You... — come, drug me, babe.

I painted you in the pastel of my heart when thousands of colors were not enough to caress warmly so many vagueness forms in the steps of time and when all other painters were breathing just black and white. I reread you in noblest book rigged on a shelf without the dust of the soul. I've muttered the warmest song out of unnumbered sounds thrown tenaciously toward the many ears but some haven't afforded to listen to it. I chose you be my director who turns drama in a romantic story with a happy ending knowing that the end actually embraces a new beginning formulated to blow up in another one verbalized in our mind.

a cup with the sweetness of winter's tea preserves still the irresistible fragrance of our absolute kiss phrased in pigments and silhouettes of our dream, connected with our mind through an unspoken story of our insatiable love tinted, — forbidden  

❝ this call, this call for lust echoes inside [echoes inside] this ghost of sin, of skin echoes inside [echoes inside] hours without end losing myself waiting, waiting for your dance echoes inside me [echoes inside me] i could believe the signs you've left a leap of true faith just trying to share the song inside my head  [the song inside my head] oblivion makes a move and i forgot to forget what could be the end, to share i could believe the signs you've left a leap of true faith just trying to share the song inside my head  [the song inside my head] this ghost.... ❞

a sublime debut of a madly morning attracts you on the dancefloor of mind its rhythm vibrates magnificent arousing a sense that once you ignored but you don't feel embarrassed at all, contrary, your little dreamer soul hums farewell is the burden of life's origin to discharge joys' cycle at [new degrees]

morning rouse, — bizarre dream of last night, — forgot Les Fleurs at the coffee, — interesting Les Litanies, — followed with Lord's Prayer darkness, — identical as is a lit side; the beauty of ugly, the ugly of beauty, — Baudelaire explained; night and day, — unseparated; increasing, decreasing, — equally; the love, — is there or is not at all... defines a weakness, — artistic creation; a pray, — telepathy works... come closer

He murmured to me, suggestively, — [oh, my Lady], a mixed mirage, I live, next to you, since the day I met you... It's, as if I see the moonfall serenade dancing on fantasy's velvety sculpture orchestrated deeply by your longings. Nothing haunt me more than you do. I feel you even when you say nothing. You do to me what tides and time do. Endless carnal desires are tingling me. I'm tortured by love. Your miles away love... (when he plunged his heart and it let it be swallowed, by my oceans of dreams)

outmoded are those that wanted you and me not to get together; outraged, the time wanted to be in trend too and paralyzed the seconds, both of us to roam like two crazy between each other's thoughts; but the moon intervened and with gold threads it glazed our souls; the sea dancing in circles through you and me, it dressed us with her breeze in a mating ritual of senses to dispel away everything we felt as a homework of culpability even if we've got puzzled... nothing and nobody could stop us... tenacious, we still dare, we still dream... you're wanting me... I'm wanting you... whole lotta love...

even when i'm waking up later in the morning, i make time to put a drop of a rose on my lips, just enough to fable to me a thrilling whisper at the rendezvous with the happiness you are, one of my favorite faded fantasies lost willingly with your alluring essences into my essences

Close your eyes. Feel me. I'm fragile. I do pirouettes thru butterflies' thoughts. There, we live our stories, still unwritten, but kept in the space of a bud's hope. Trapped in each other, I kiss your eyelids on twilight from now until forever, sweet dream of my dream. Your dream is... I... [meet me here], [meet me there], [meet me everywhere...]

 I can't tell you why... but... through your eyes, I dream, in your dream, I'm pulled with fun spells and songs thrown by different senses through your mouth, I eat love rebuild and fixed in your time and space garnished with your visions through your thoughts, I am wildflower perfume guided in your bedding where once I have been and I will be still

It's sinister to wait for someone to remember about your existence. Sometimes, departing from there, it's the only way to show the emptiness which remains in that place. Therefore, choose never to look back again. It's an equitable action. Offer it as if it's a declaration of love… a sublime orgasm totally lacked, but teases the blood with its heat. Offer it, like a drug that's given by a song, found exactly like has been created, in poetry suspended in its own mécanisme. There are enough blossomed dreams and time, for somebody who cares, to invoke any memory… (one who cares).

in the dawning, circa at budding sun, love has transfused within my nudity fulfilling me deeply as a woman i am, as a woman like you have dreamt too often, [no more, no less, never yours]

perfume of a gentle, untamed summer, sweet pie with mascarpone and cherry, ice cream with chocolate and caramel, adequately music swimmingly diffused, tender whispers assaulting hot desires, lips on a crystal with something dreamt, and kisses on the nape to give frissons there, [somewhere, someday, somehow] [like a some Kokomo realm] felt to d‧a‧y

some thought crawls its foot, slowly and rhythmically causeless, I look up and down, even if i feel it inside me robotized, my thought's voice asks, — who's there, talk instantly, i am filled with music adapted by you… so fine

I don't know what you go through, but I try to imagine you're reading these lines while you sip something, as you like it. ⋯ I don't know if you're happy or not, but I can suspect. Not because I have special powers but of the signs you sent. ⋯ I don't know if you smile to yourself or you check some playlists, but I can assume you're in a search for a mood. ⋯ I don't know if you crave some chocolate or you want to walk on dreams' route, while you're sandwiched with your owns. ⋯ I don't know if love's spirit booze took you making you imagine we're together, while the beams of the stars touch us alike. I know nothing, except that each morning we rouse and go through this circus of time, over and over again, facing it nonchalantly.

« perhaps not to be is to be without your being, without your going, that cuts noon light like a blue flower, without your passing later through fog and stones, without the torch, you lift in your hand those others may not see as golden, that perhaps no one believed blossomed the glowing origin of the rose, without in the end your being your coming suddenly, inspiringly, to know my life, blaze of the rose-tree, wheat of the breeze: and it follows that I am because you are: it follows from "you are" that I am, and we: and, because of love, you will, I will, we will come to be»