poetry, — how does it feel...

by
About seven seasons are in you
and each of them is filled
with feelings and their thrills.
Thereby, —
in spring, you're a zephyr…
first glance, first kiss, first ecstasy.
The summer is
the burning love of yours.
When autumn comes
the bedding gets a fix.
It's winter when
you're freezing me with your gaze.
Forgetfulness appears to be
the coldest season felt from you...
and yet, more intimate and
more involved, it is the season
when we meet in dainty fancy
of the poetry, —  how does it feel...
as you can see, —
 you're unpredictability

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walk right in

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salut, — allez, bisous

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check it out

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when the fire hits the sea

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heavenly

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