the envy met with mediocrity… i watched their illusions making love i swear i never tried to spy on them but appeared on my stream their moment was & is strangled still with the core of their shadow so i stepped out, learning to not care… (didn't deserve my attention)

let's drink a coffee, a tea, let's talk about us, or just let's watch ourselves at each other to feel together how often love kissed us... [it whispered at my soul's roots, the spring]; let your mind's steps tread on the doorstep of my blues using a poem without uttering  love's words, lusts, and longings but only be felt in the emotional charging of your cells; let your chromosomes' scent get spread up... tenderly to touch my meadow of buttercups placed in my dreams among time and space with the noise of verses moaning your name … whispered again at my soul's roots, – spring;

and smiles all the venom of love and wakes up the life of my lips   and slips smoothly into my body bohème wants to sail like a well-versed poet through my blood till gets inside my soul and winks to me and vitalizes me and is ridiculously and faultless and deeply to satisfy any sleepy desire my perfidious coffee

the magic tips of his dreams fingers slipping sluggishly into her heart pocket caress any carnal curves of her brain then annihilates any psychic aggression by sedating her with the vaccine of love of his longing that burns smoldering the magic tips of his dreams fingers slipping sluggishly into her heart pocket is kissing the platonic texts of her lust painted by the resolutions of his universe with a distorting time in a square moon rolled in a future of an imperfect perfection and this happens just because the tips of his dreams fingers are magic...

am the pollen of words in the whispers of your dreams my mind spreads honey while your bud blossoms stars vulnerable, your galaxy marvel in the taste of my marvel seeing you perfuming yourself with my blue eyes' memoir

when i want love, my lungs hear my wish letting a song be, — [your hands on my dreaming heart]; in between, another song prepares your lips on my lips to push me to the stars [to moan... with mad lust]; adjusted by the light of your eyes, i'm kissed and wrapped in poetry's empire [for love is what it is], — king of your heart and queen of my heart where i call you and you call me anytime [at the hour of the abstract art];

why the voice of your heart scolds me when it sinks you in my liquid dreams while you take the form of my essence, budding with the sighs, tongue, and lips of your prose… upon my skin's poetry why your words build a wild lust in me, turning me to look like a lacy divination while the fangs of your soul drug me, texturing my facts to entwine and flow through love's banquet, directed by you why better not claim me, if it's so sexy for you to make me miss you, every day

ingesting jasmine's accent fragrance of my body, your aristocratic fingers have meowed acutely, a sexy melody lovingly, the magic murmur of music with the warmed and moistened lips recited to you my kisses' calligraphy in a flash, a viewable joy comforted us with the fragments of another dream domineeringly, to don't go to strangers