you… sexy thing…

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hey… are you in the corridor of hope,
sniffing through the jelly pudding,
whipped cream, hot chocolate, and
baby milk with other instant items‽

⋯

hey… I'm here… in the corridor of love,
wandering through the liqueur of gods,
well held in the velvety sweet sparkles,
for the lips to get rich with their flavor

⋯

and who's the one who's going to pay
for all these delis… you… sexy thing؟‽

 

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yAyAyA

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Can you talk without having any knowledge about the one who supposed to listen to you passionately and conclusively? Doesn't it feel as if your voice puts your brain in a quandary? All you want is to read the magic of the stars. And yet, to do it, isn't essential to gaze into the eyes of the one who's loved? I found wondering myself, even as tempted, I imagined the lips of this enigmatic one, who's gazing at what wants to hear, while without getting pressured, it experiences all the songs' words. It's a vibe as if it reads me, wanting to identify on which side of the syllables am I sleep, and which word must be breathed... That one is dulcifying by itself with poetic thrills, ruled at a pub, somewhere on a roof known as the blue café, in a «yAyAyA» realm comparable to milky-way, as if I know what it's like to be not to be.
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bizarre... i don't know what it is… but i love it

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peony buds blossom in my thoughts their delicate scent emanate through your eyes the sun, like a virtual luv3r, spreads velvety petals all over sedated, my lips narrate in the dialect of one million stardust cosmic words paint the skin of your dream in the hue of my shade your mouth tastes any part of me using the moisture codex of love Alien codex by The Wandering Caretaker
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me you

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the perception, me, you, the disappearing action yet my disappearing action isn't your perception, but a speck of miraculous dust out of the universe called love, a hereditary molecule from my DNA combined with the essences of all good addictions in encoded information just to tingle your spine
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