You don't possess so captivating howls of the wolves for how much silence of the moon, it is in me, when your thoughts, tiptoeing, got sneaked inside of mine. You don't possess so many forests, which you'd been wishing to grow 'em in your soul, to make me somehow lose myself, to feel what means blood pulse of yours. You don't possess so-so or too much time to be enough to you, when your whispers burn my lips with verses rhymeless, cos too, today, they're longing for your kiss. You don't possess nor even curses, to snatch me out of any fantasy, where seems I'm laying there about forever, waiting frantically for you to love me, as you promised… You don't possess even tomorrow, for how I'm loving you right now, — into a Monday or a Tuesday, a Wednesday, Thursday or a Friday and Saturday to not forget about of Sunday, when you're to me so cold or too-too passionate.