I stretch my hands out, — unscrupulous, I hug you, [it's all I can do] words might sound deaf but from the bottom of my heart are uttered to you sentimentalist, all I know is how I feel, — searching for my love thanks to love's 24-carat, nothing ever can't split it, nobody ever can't exile it

i was poisoned by tenderness with the elixir of a haunting kiss its curse, sits ghostly doodled on all walls of the Château d'If there, longs don't dance anymore but sing (…along with sea's smoke veil) so don't try uttering its saga, for, it'll rein you to a smile, and wink

take the whispered words from the thoughts of my lips, kissed in dreams' symphony with love's key at rainbow's power to heal those too tired of you

from the navel of the sky from the navel of the stone from the navel of the sea i really dunno from where... but it appeared instantly your thoughts' reflections straight inside my glass... your hugs' whispers, came like a trotyl inside my dream, so excruciating caressed by the rays of the moon, but so much enough to turn me on to shake my chocolate hills, to make me hum your name and i felt, and my house felt, and the entire universe felt, the moaning of my fantasy, as you were mesmerized it (towards me...) (inside me...) apodictic to model me, with your fangs, paved with desire

the sun swatted the dawn with my smile my smile was belted with the fluffy clouds' skin the fluffy clouds' skin are guarding my dreams dreams have essences, but essences aren't for everyone poetic, through themselves, are in the course of true love

in a cave of trees, identically to Kanzan, (thievishly), robed in a velvety black fur, sits the love with its voice transplanted, it's meowing, while its kitty eyes crave to taste the original sin of my verses' lips nonchalantly, as if i didn't feel it, i pass on, but in reality, passionately, love rips out entire oxygen from my lungs

your words make the dream a kiss on the lips of the night, portrayed by honey thoughts of my writing your soul's visions, comb with style the sleep's dream into a chic attire, — it whispered to me morrow's poetry, hallucinatory excited to be your gift