come thru

by
should I make myself a coffee
or a lemonade

should I do what I want now
or wait for later

should I get to your harbor
or to stay in my roadstead

should I see each thing in black-white
or in colors

should I assist myself
with a white wine or a white tea

should I dress in a well-ironed shirt
or in a wrinkled coat

should I bet on the winner
or to bet on the dreamer

should I be your naughty
or your sweetie

should I wear you in my soul
or to hold you in my mind
‧‧‧
well, which choices come online,
always come thru you… my love

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by her

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«She got a poet's spirit. She burns among the clouds. She never stops believing. She only dreams out loud. There's a jackpot on the dresser. She's smiling in the glass, and if you need to kiss her... don't forget your stash. And she gives it away. And you're fascinated by her. And she does it again with simple and brilliant desire, and she gives it away, and you're fascinated by…by her. She wears a million colors. There are rainbows on her soles. She got a sign above her that says, "I'm never growin' old"... You're askin' her to dance now, she spins a solid white light. She gonna' make love to you today, today, and every night. And she gives it away. And you're fascinated by her. Then she does it again with a simple and brilliant desire. And she gives it away, and you're fascinated by…by her, by her. She may be waiting 'round the corner of your mind, but still, you know she's there, you can...
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❝ Te Amo. Te amo de una manera inexplicable, de una forma inconfesable, de un modo contradictorio. Te amo con mis estados de ánimo que son muchos, y cambian de humor continuamente por lo que ya sabes, el tiempo, la vida, la muerte. Te amo con el mundo que no entiendo, con la gente que no comprende, con la ambivalencia de mi alma, con la incoherencia de mis actos, con la fatalidad del destino, con la conspiración del deseo, con la ambigüedad de los hechos. Aun cuando te digo que no te amo, te amo. Hasta cuando te engaño, no te engaño. En el fondo, llevo a cabo un plan, para amarte mejor. Te amo sin reflexionar, inconscientemente, irresponsablemente, espontáneamente, involuntariamente, por instinto, por impulso, irracionalmente. En efecto, no tengo argumentos lógicos, ni siquiera improvisados para fundamentar este amor que siento por ti que surgió misteriosamente de la nada que no ha resuelto mágicamente nada y que milagrosamente, de a poco, con poco y nada ha mejorado lo peor de mí. Te...
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could you let the reality get deformed because — loving me, it's your dream, and loving you is my fantasy with all my smiles and giggles, synchronized with each moment since you met me, also, with all my lack of experience in waving your thoughts, paid with lots precious attention in beauty sessions of your inseparable emotions, coupled at the ylang-ylang perfume of my soul, and assimilated in the secret's fineness of a message hidden in the unique taste of a me‧ta‧xa, explored slowly, to not get scared some kiss that's been longing a lot for our lips to talk fluently in lust's dialect vibing into the all-undivided parameter found in the mage of watermelon sugar, winded in the torrential love chemistry
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I embodied you in another creature reincarnated not from a fairy spirit but gifted to direct you at a stage of a futuristic idea felt in a sloe gin able like a vermin to eat your pain, a pain found in any soul, at a time...
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give‧me‧your‧fire‧give‧me‧your‧rain

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Under the influence of the moon's breeze, music witchery is touching me and metamorphose me in the whispers of stars, properly orchestrated by your wildish thoughts, making me look like a tableaux vivant out of your preferred color palette in the abstract, as if we're meant to be metaphysical as one. Under the influence of the moon's breeze, your incantations appears organized, whenever, wherever, and in any way ever, inciting me to add additional loves' names to your love for me. Under the influence of the moon's breeze and of its charisma, I invoked dream's power to lure you inside my unpredictability to mention your name, – ( give‧me‧your‧fire‧give‧me‧your‧rain ).
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whole lotta love

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… outmoded are those that wanted you and me not to get together; outraged , the time wanted to be in trend too and paralyzed the seconds, both of us to roam like two crazy between each other's thoughts; but the moon intervened and with gold threads it glazed our souls; the sea, dancing in circles through you and me, it dressed us with her breeze in a mating ritual of senses , to dispel away everything we felt as a homework of culpability; even if we've got puzzled …, nothing and nobody could stop us ..., tenacious , we still dare, we still dream ..., you're wanting me... I'm wanting you..., filled with a  whole lotta love ...
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one that I want

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i'd fly

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I love but simply, I don't know if today's love is the same as yesterday, but I can swear, — (without attention to details) that makes me feel as if I'd fly ⋯ I love and I don't know, — why the day of yesterday behaved enormously bizarre and didn't talk about what aptitude it has, when inside me, conceptual, today looks like the old day's one ⋯ I love but simply, I don't know if today's texture will be equivalent to yesterday's, but I'm expecting everyone to handle with time's translation of the adored one's ⋯ and I don't know again, but all of me transpires the colors and enthusiasm,  bearing the diverse passions' silhouettes today... like yesterday... to love... because ⋯ you love I love, surprisingly by nature you don't know how heightened love will push you up to fly
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happy single

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with the ink of happy... single in the dreams using the alphabet of stars, in your calendar, like a party drug, I am... a mysterious moon written and portrayed in any day's caprice tactically as you sing in my crepuscular zone indifferent what season could be felt in you
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sweet escape

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some tagged me, — poetess... [shhh...] [like you, i smiled too] [trenchantly arrogant] [didn't correct 'em], i let their faux pas beliefs slip lento to my fingers, choosing to pen 'em with the words of my soul's language, having as proofreader the whispers of my emotions texts got molded in tints of my eyes' dialect, rhyming with a questioning laugh, deeply and artfully aimed ​by my spectral thoughts with crystalline sounds like some infant's sin my DNA, like the graphene, defined to me how to love... [to love you...] [to love stuff…], [which must be done as much as is necessary, gradually and sufficiently to not get injured] … some tagged me, — poetess... [shhh...], they felt my sweet escape at the rococo degree
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