graced in chromatic love of yours, my lips know what they want they ask nothing, — just take, engaging your lips playfully to be like a bumblebee on a peony bud… guided gently by a lighthouse light through a foamy curtain of stars, blue paradise savors… our prelude uninhibited

in the writer's farm, — you'll find me planted, — my name's love… on the music's farm thinkin' bout you you... humming… in all artists' farms, i am their attire, sound, color, word, ‧‧‧‧‧‧‧‧‧‧‧‧‧ i am the muse

to not wrench your morning fragrance, i lean softly upon your inflamed wrath letting this love-starved heart of mine to migrate inside you enthusiastically, pleasant to arouse you, and to listen to my minute, springing up within forever through the field of wildflowers bathed into nights of loving, of passions, of us

you slip in any cell of mine like an irresistible quicksilver making art with my blood keeping me captive with the graces of a silvery fox and the instinct of a wolf for you talk with distant stars and with the moon and seas  to guard me like a treasure for I emit the perfume of love in III types of notes, felt deep, me... — you... — us...

are illustrations that transport me promptly in any village all over the world, — companion becomes the one who surprised the moment, — coquette, the essence of a uniform message is the clock that accentuates the atmosphere, lustily, like our tête-à-tête, a trick of the light

unintended, — the mouth got woken... somehow, the fingertips have sketched delicately gestures on the lips contour the movements of words are flowing so ample between a melodious sound, gentle, velvety, and alluring perceived atmosphere evokes therapeutic senses without involving a petrissage therapy but just a bam‧bang‧boom smooth vibe

he hunts discreetly her blue gaze, to his dream in continuum progress even the evening sun shines on him effervescent in oriental rhythms through a byzantine aperture she appears as enigma in abstract spreading an elite heady fragrance as he hunts discreetly, her blue gaze

in the scheme of his soul I'm weightless, — gravity is zero, and yet I'm felt felt silky, like a peony's petal, pedantic and asymmetric caught inside its tender echo echo crystalline, gifted to wilt till heals our longings' fragility like the pulse of a rain a rain untamed …as weightlessly as I'll wait […in the scheme of his soul]

i felt my beauty in the shadow of his thoughts and only water of him in any province he trod he made me feel like an idea and not a poetry and my mistakes he restyled into a beau idéal even my dreams became more real as reality while the truth was only an abstract in bathos deducted

his every touch overwhelmed me utterly; the passion and gentleness made my body to tremble in his waves with foamy senses, my limbs to feel effervescently frissons in semitones of blues equal with lapis-lazuli out of the edge of the love's galaxy, melted in our emotion's sound, deeply like an ocean, able to resurrect any metaphor to the rank of bohemian experience for rising up ecstasy