'50s
gently, touch me, —
(as if you're blind)
ride your lips, —
(on my skin)
arouse my longing, —
(with your kiss)
my lyrical whisper is, —
(your love's escape...)
(somewhere that looks
like '50s)
I'm Confessin'
Nothing is more beautiful than talking to the sea. You start to talk to it irrelevant stuff, telling a few simple stories, as if it might mean something. The sea doesn't stop you. It's listening to you. Even gives you that feeling, encouraging you to confess while it morphs your soul in harmonious healing waves. Involved in a dialogue with an imaginary presence, your status quo, instantly, ends up rolling back and forth. Till you see the change, a smile already populates your face. It's no wonder why the play of the lips, the frisson, the elegant acceptance, the conversation scene, coexist in a lush blue realm at open-minded degree.
