what it says on the tin
if you don't know how to bite,
do not bark...
that's what it says on the tin
me
your kiss flowed smoothly from your amorous lips' wings through me... (like a... vine)
Join my atmosphere. My mood denotes Bohemian Whispers and a persistent Poetic Frisson. The dosage comes with Coco. πΏ
π
today ‣‣‣ α΅α΄ΌDΚ³α΅α΅α΅Aα΅α΅α΅α΅Yα΅α΅‧‧‧
My longing for you is hypnotizing... Is narcotic... What happens to me, it's beyond me... And this mastery, it's not up to us but just being afraid about what I feel or what you feel, — (especially the metaphysical aspects of us). You realize your love for me is pure and true, and this discovery perhaps intimidates you in a typical way as if you're part of my DNA, — (forever and evermore...) The sky is static but shows me exactly how to love you. I've been waiting for you muchly, from early origins to come... to live in my dream... in my thoughts... To let the emotions be written by... (atmosphere‽). Now, you're giving me colors... Even some fears. Then, some desires and lights... (expectations‽). I have you and I don't have you. Between us is a frozen border for being and not being together. In a ride named — Desire, we are and aren't there. It was so fine when we met on a day when we knew, (we are...) and, on another day, we remembered what we'...
flashback
pleasant emotions flood spontaneously like a dandelion in the spring hungered of lips on soft lips, so good... — so-so, again as much real as the unreal composing a mood, painted, sung, dreamt, and spoken in contagious gods' language and the spirit of goddesses to flourish inside you an afternoon experiment; ‧‧‧ then another, and another, and I, clearly, have chosen to be a flashback, — you addicted
i am your passion's dialect
On any cloud of the sky I wrote to you the words of my soul with the angels' quill , dipped in the ink of stars , using the symbols of quasar , created by scream of my colors in the curve of your zenith . On any cloud of the sky I played in your fantasy's routine for the poesy you are, — the muse of my muses , the lure of my demons, the metaphor of my metaphors, the surreal nature of my realities. On any cloud of the sky, it has been embodied by me the whispers of the universe with the smile of an I love you, with the vibe of a song, with the picture of a moment, with their seductive essence. On any cloud of the sky pirouetting your thought on me, the poetic mood I was in, I am in, didn't and doesn't feel human. You tempted it to fulfill the role of a safeguarding cocoon for..., — for I am your passion's dialect .
as sweet as a sin...
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 there's not a miraculous icon or therapeutic source that could heals you of me... me............................as sweet as a sin…
the magic of an instant conjuncture
and as I was walking so, — dreaming with my mind fully absent, — hop-hop out of blue, an old friend plunged straight in front of my very eyes... taking me in its arms, kissing me on both cheeks and with glimpses of happiness in its senses, telling me: «oh my god... — how I missed you‧‧‧», and sincerity seemed so-so charming thru the magic of an instant conjuncture; (seemed... only), ingenious gift, faultlessly lingering in a lovely view for a dream
i want more
shelter
slowly, — his gaze canvassed down to the mystery of her fluidly feeling there are no shortcuts, — his psychic is unlocked instantly dimension of ecstasy enraptures him to the deepest desire the astral embodiment of her yoni springs on him, sweet like a flower her giving is in his rustle's intimacy, in the deep insatiability of his breath is a harmony of the event's testimony in a voyage over bridges of thoughts each gesture and touch is Rhine falls in the torch climax of the passion the words' personality moves their lips beyond their heartbeat's silhouette she's ready, – wants him; he knows it is …her poem's air in his butterflies' shelter
i want you
i want you to know each day is profound, exactly as you left me, gone and howled till I've been light enough to fly into your mind, full of trouble and rituals for this incident to hap just by making me to fall… [in your love] i want you to know that anything you did and you do to me still shine on through forever as wherever you're kept to feel me in fondness of flowers with pigments of my sunrise, tamed to get lost in your eyes
a little bit
stop; don’t try to divine some answers anymore, generated into a day... (of whatever's tomorrow) if the thoughts slipped out of the brain box, but got treated as if they weren't well-packed ▫ murmured, out of the blue, the wind's whisper, trying to temper me, melodic… (just a little bit) with the drastic formula of a sensitive topic about the one who has a chiaroscuro intellect ▫ intermediary, music flows, inviting rain to laugh (without modesty), in my boundlessness, which owns numerical superiority in any adventure of the truth, while it dances with else's delusions...
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