too late to love you
like a ladybug, my thoughts walk on tiptoes toward a leaf of a rose, shaded by its petals full of crystalline dew from a dream's origin where was never too late to love you, subtly. this hysterical lust kept in my coded essences you felt it, too, on your lips, for five long years, hunting me musically in a bouquet of red wine, sufficiently for your whispers to kiss my body. i lost even my thoughts' number full of spirit, since i've been loving you… metamorphosed in a rain of a summer, in a season of the sun, saluting inquiringly, our love's bizarre strategy.
