blood is rebel connected to your thoughts; all kinds of things are filled with fantasies that wear the proudness of the flowers felt at my morning coffee slowly served with sips of patience in castling of senses detoxed by celestial calmness of our love kept for making moves further and higher to another level of a new real good feeling

this very day, I stopped in a hurry among the verses of the sky domesticated by the poetry you are and I sang in the major key coupled at flowers' jubilee in nectar's tinge, just so, to feel you as if you'd be spunky feathers of a genius Kolibri

on the constellation of my universe, a huge query point gives an answer very precisely to a question asked, — please take care of that, — if it isn't over my head, shouldn't be on yours … on the constellation of your universe, all my stars surround you in beauty, me to be seen in you created again, — so i rose up in the same row twice and got memorized for the third time … on the constellation of both universes personified in an unsteady steady way we're a bit of something finely angled

like the shadow of a girl…on the Moon i have waited so long to feel the meaning of being your deep desire on a Saturday taken Monday maintained on a Tuesday costumed in an azure veil of a Wednesday tailored Thursday but initiated on a Friday in your eyes like a lithe so nonchalantly with irrefutable dimples of your longing…

Allo…? Zeus? Pick up the phone, — it's Me, the goddess of goddesses undomesticated but glorified and loved by you in such a manner that any grammar of any language couldn't be enough to express it for would-be stumbling in words anointed by saint myrrh of illusion in beatified memories collected in hiéroglyphes that are able to get decoded only by… (me and you…), in paradise, both amused to amuse any other earthly native that adores and idolizes with perplexed passion, to listen to the will of some SF love

I can't stop the time and yet, unintended, I remember You for you're not what you hide, in aphotic side unseen but what you've become through own will throwing light to my invisible shape, sensible and mystic in your style invoked, in your air inhaled, in your water, sunk, in your visions, zoomed you not to be dropped in bad magic spells or to be hijacked by my deep-blue mind, deeper than the ocean darker than the night...

On any cloud of the sky I wrote words to you with the angels' quill dipped in the ink of stars, using the letters of quasar created by my rainbow in the curve of your zenith On any cloud of the sky I got moves of the fantasy for the poesy you are, my muse of the muses, the lure of my demons the metaphor of metaphors the surreal of my realities On any cloud of the sky, it's been written by me whispers of the universe to you, — I Love You... I Love You in a way which doesn't feel human, for I am your passion's dialect

the rim of your fingertips through my Venus has the sensory system thirsted for ecstasy, to emit the Zenith vibrations from your body and to shape me in an unreal fresh eroticism somewhere by the river energy of your mind

like a morningstar, you're infiltrating gradually in my clouds, penetrating profoundly my yummy memories, making me smile while you feed me with your happiness wonderfully twisted in the glaze of pleasure carefully garnished with the shooting stars from where you are...

here we go again… feeling guilty as is any starved animal searching nutrients for whatever might feed the spirit quench the thirst, push loneliness and all fear away... here we go again, to french-toast with goodnight kisses ending as we started, frenglishly together, like mongrels

my tactic is — tactless, unfitting is — fitting some words, unseemly seems to seem discreet of indiscreet improvised and hasty to love you well, — diversified as is the rise of mine, — instantly numb, — not negligently... always... — sentimental