so strange
shines the whispers' lights, like dawn's beads, festooning promptly, love's echo, seduced and flung out from the neck of the sun's first thrill poeticized by the zenith of an endless longing thru a window's fissure of dreams' kitchenette sings chic, the thoughts in the mind's boudoir, using decency's taste, anointed in sin's crème, fine impregnated in a strawberry aroma's tale and cherry, adorned in tiny champagne collars thru an enamored soul consumed with desire dance the words on the canvas of the feelings adjusted by the contour of eyes' colors palette, like dawn's beads shine in the whispers' lights, like the thoughts sing thru the mind's boudoir, like the words dance on the canvas of feelings thru a shining Monday to rouse Tuesday's voice while Wednesday, so strange, allures the mood because Thursday's a hot comrade of the Friday that incites Saturday to inspire Sunday's dream to be, chic while you kiss me in fin
