one language
In the eyes of your runaway o’clock, I’m like a steam, carrying the scented subatomic unit of a magical time, attired inventively in the velvety equipment of longing. Motivated, the hour hand, points to me, very delicately, the graphic bulletin of your love traced colorful for me, while the minute hand swings in the rhythm of my pulse. Amazing modulated, following the silhouette of your lips, the contour of the sky lit up its precious part one ability, just to feel you, kissing my dreamy dream of the dreams. In a flash, using only one language (in passion’s dialect), our minds gave a harmonious voice to the desire, concocting beautiful, the most deeply Orgasmus effect. Gently, the muses have woven a smooth envious rumor for curious, while our bodies, metamorphosed in a miracle, are experiencing the metaphors of an undomesticated love.
