Tenderness, — I got to be wrapped... Preciousness, — wrap me, please... I'm cold, — Come... — Take me  in the season of hell with the drunken boat of the Rimbaud if you wanna, — or... in the waste-land with the cruelest April of Eliot's, — but come... come, caress me, baby

to clean black feelings, wash 'em in warm water of those persistent fears mix your thoughts with opportunities adding deeds to words don't forget, — everything must be spiced with tenacity, with humor [it helps the stubbornness] it's like salt, it's like pepper, it is the main ingredient, the mystery of a wild love

i have an empirical, never-ending dream that knows nothing but roving recklessly through the headquarters of pleasure  one while  music shows its divine assistance

Just a bit earlier, someone told me, — I'm beautiful as  the moon is rising , and if you want to,  I'll stand by you . The fact that one who flattered me was already 100 and some years old, didn't hurt me with such petty deets, contrariwise, stole a smile from me. ‧ And I know it saw me clearly. I swear. Also, because it wasn't even escorted. Although it's true, it indeed stumbled about three times, but I put all of these on the part of my dazzling beauty 🤪, a beauty like a musical arrangement or, at times, just like a tune's lyrics do.

chasing some unearthly whispers a fascinated loop of clouds surprised someone's love overdue