way up

a mental imagery wings its way up
to the satellite of your sky, —

suspiciously, in the sky of yours
it is late, — it is infernally late...

yet, perceived, is a tremored whisper
on my skin written with your mind

it's about a cryptical story about us, —
two lovers swaying smoothly together

…preoccupied with nothing else


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anytime of the year

lovely

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good for me

face à face

tighten up

satisfaction guaranteed

tell me something beautiful, she said, — (∂ + m) ψ

give me a reason

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