maybe, (...just maybe), (out of there...), you are watching me with the same interest and affection, seraph angel (...at least, like that), I allowed myself, today, to think, to feel, to love as the child I was, and the woman I've become customized ...kissed on the soul, on noise, on silence, on the dark, on the light, on humidity, on febrility, with your inches of life touched ...by the pasts you took, with tons of happiness which you left 'em, to me, — (a little heartbreak girl) in a world that's charade and fully ...weighed by all odds at a fake weighing scale, right as you liked to joke, as you got me honed and nestled on dreams' shelf anchored ...embosomed, and scented, and snoozed, and waked, and nurtured, and tutored, by cell structure of a DNA where the joy is naturalness ⋯ 🤍💐🔟

Maybe this time tomorrow, hopeless to help myself, I'm gonna cheat on you with one... or with another, — cool off, you're not my first with a heart ripped, and guilt, it isn't yours but mine, having much love to give ⋯ Maybe this time tomorrow, I'm gonna cheat on you but what's the tonic now is the four-day creep we're in, when I am yours at infinite, and you are mine, total, total in love, romantic incurable, hellishly passional ⋯ Maybe this time tomorrow, when some incertitudes will look for you, another's arms will cuddle you and with appealing lips will kiss you, while you will think to let a note, – (I'll cheat on you... It's not your fault...) ⋯ (narrates with broken hearts, a mistress, and a dude)

To define entertainment, happiness, love or whatever, it's better to be done, only at your own present time, isn't it? I'm feelin' good. ᵀᴼDʳᵉᵃᵐAᵇᵒᵘᵗYᵒᵘ is a Sunday kind of Love.

If I'd descend from heaven in your eyes, (like a trail of the moon), would you hold off your eye blink to not jeopardize my ray? But if I'd be disseminated from the sky, on your lips, with drops of the rain, would I quench your thirst with this water of mine? And yet, because the «if», is just a condition of the argument and the «would», just the tag line, then the answer will be clear, — you will be what you want others to be for you, — while me, — I'll remain a silent flame in an abandoned silhouette — (smiling...).

«She got a poet's spirit. She burns among the clouds. She never stops believing. She only dreams out loud. There's a jackpot on the dresser. She's smiling in the glass, and if you need to kiss her... don't forget your stash. And she gives it away. And you're fascinated by her. And she does it again with simple and brilliant desire, and she gives it away, and you're fascinated by…by her. She wears a million colors. There are rainbows on her soles. She got a sign above her that says, "I'm never growin' old"... You're askin' her to dance now, she spins a solid white light. She gonna' make love to you today, today, and every night. And she gives it away. And you're fascinated by her. Then she does it again with a simple and brilliant desire. And she gives it away, and you're fascinated by…by her, by her. She may be waiting 'round the corner of your mind, but still, you know she's there, you can

a reply that you can give to someone is one that's been expected, but for which nobody asked you no questions, — it's similar, like a pause of 13 minutes at a black coffee with an intense boom spread on you, as after that, to realize that the period of time of a certain one dreaming of you, it'll look like a ghost who screens you an unwanted notice, — (error 404)

I don't know what you think about me, but I say with my hand on my fountain that I'm a river. So please, beautifully, come to my riparian valley. Wash your eyes in my water, so you can see me and to see yourself how handsome you are with your timid reflection mirrored inside my stream. Look at me and let me those drops that know how to dance an impeccable waltz with the time, one that reinvents your face in my liquid mirror. For being a river, I ask you to seat on my stones and to listen to about how and who sings to you. Walk with your dry soles in my water, as everyone to believe me, when I'm talking about how perfect is your silhouette but ignores me, cos I don't know if I really want you to swim in me, for I'm so afraid. I'm too afraid I'll stop myself from my own course. So better you taste my water, so I can flow, gently, in your body, upstream and downstream, shaking in you, and, with your will, me to become your font. I don't know what you think

look, — at this time I go out, if you come between times, get in, (you know how...), make yourself comfortable, — a shower... eat something, take a glass... anything you like, watch a movie, listen to some music... and wait for me; when I'll be back, I would like to hear all your stories... sitting cozy, taken refuge in my arms, (i promise I'll take care of You)

Do you think that one candle will be enough with its gentle and gracious light to give a suitable nuance for our love's twilight? Do you think that one song will be enough to touch with gentleness our openness, structuring new visions in this deep reverie? Do you think that we could be absolved by any culpability when the music wakes up the shiver that shudders some senses? Do you think I think that a new question will be reformulated in a predictable answer? ∴∵ I think that nuanced was only the question for our love got thru curtains' series, long time ago. I think the one who believes this... finally will start to compose new songs because of some visions. I think that I could be a bit accused only for the smile that you brought to me when you asked this. And I think the perfect answer amid to any question could be given with approximation by someone who inspires you at a certain moment. ∴∵ Just a few words, an approach, — nothing more... ∴∵ [I never had you...], — [Is it sad

would you like a strong coffee with two tiny teaspoons of truth slathered in a sublime sonority? well-well, all you heard about me, it might not be only the truth, but just a small part of what I did/do

I'm as sweet as a sin in your eyes, when you hold the fasting of me demurely in your soul and mind loving me till God and looking humbled for the light to find a smell of the saint of myrrh. I'm as sweet as a sin in your eyes, then, when you're waiting for dispensation, that dispensation for love without knowing if it'll come this sweetness of godly thought with the smell of books and innocence. I'm as sweet as a sin, and you… you gotta be a chocolate Jesus looking in the sinner inside you knowing that it is not a miraculous icon or healing source that could heals you of me... me............................as sweet as a sin…

dear reader‧‧‧, before throwing yourself in the void of my thoughts and navigate in all my dreamt and undreamed dreams, take with you the bow and arrows, — my mind is a jungle ⋯ by the way, — try to wing onto yourself even a camera to immortalize anything ⋯ adjusts the film on the spot, — lengthwise, width, up, down, and rotary, to explore (my nameless stars...), (my nameless loves...), elegantly masked in an allusive content ⋯ remark, — in this galaxy of my universe, you'll be able to feel my mood inside you, as if you've been lured under the spell of a bad woman blues... ⋯ or you could have good╱bad luck in finding yourself when you look for me or, as you do, to get lost ⋯ if somehow, it'll happen, follow the path of the good and beauty, and you'll be guided back to the light‧‧‧, my soul is self-satellite ᶜᵒᶜᵒoneᵈ in the blue spectrum's essences 🗢