costumed in winter's attitude, the sun impressed me with some subtly minty scent foggy skin of a visible horizon, showed itself toward me as a crown's pearl of the snow bathed in some hotting speech, the air hums in subtleties to give me your eyes to dream

the night has shown some smile of yours mirroring it quietly thru a window; nobody looked at it; i moved it in a dream; dream is entitled, (once in a blue Monday); glancing at it, the moon felt proud; it loved the tactic of screening your smile;

Even now I can call your name as I pen, naked as then. You should read me just the same, shouldn't you…? Cos apart from that, how you'll feel the scent, the gaze, the touch, the breath, and the call of my words…? The free words, colored words, and words full of longing. The stuttered words, sensual words, and immoral words. Lured palpable, this is how I feel trying to send words' lips to kiss your lips, while words' fingers slip on your body… With a tender massage of words, I comfort your mind, while the moans and onomatopoeia, tickle your soul… All seasons and words' climates create an atmosphere. A song completes how to listen to me and vision me… You should read me naked, just the same as I'm writing, invaded in instinct, compressed in dreams, squeezed so… (feeling fondly your mouth on mine, your fingers slipping wildly on my body, consuming me… in passion's howl) (as i write now, naked… as then, calling out your name…)