Why are you on the roof of my dreams, still, when already my night, gone, humming — “I really wanted you...” , suggesting to you a little trait about “just yesterday” while your dawn has arrived relaxed for me in a superhuman suit, sniffing everything of what I spread on you…‽ ∙ Why are you on the roof of my whispers when my smile lives among melodies that hunt the lips of your words through the stars' cheeks fated to stir the future just to bud the spark of lust at the exact time when the poetry melts in the kiss of metaphors and the gaze of tenderness…‽ ▫▫▫ This distinct „Why” one, it's the name of longing, (a prudent longing) that asks while it waits in the chamber of alchemy, matrix after matrix, of the beauty out of beauty, in the universe of the verb (to love), while a cup of coffee captivates guests with („Why”) in a welcoming cadence.