way up

a mental imagery wings its way up
to the satellite of your sky, —

suspiciously, in the sky of yours
it is late, — it is infernally late...

yet, perceived, is a tremored whisper
on my skin written with your mind

it's about a cryptical story about us, —
two lovers swaying smoothly together

…preoccupied with nothing else

πŸ˜‰

mille fois

universe

Say

one that I want

ain't stopping

hold on

salut

on repeat

thousand love songs