i filled some spaces with some lovely motley words… i think you know 'em stressed but invited was, — [proofreader of the mood] my muse's muse, — you laughing, you played and showed your amour proper… cheered me a lot, — cheered

my technology with his methodology hot sexology pfft, love's poetry devil's musicology omg's psychology mesmerised... [both] thru focus... -ology in art's symbology

was it not my purpose to fall in love with you but to be happy, to taste your wildish passion, the magic of a miracle you are, my storyteller, the writer costumed as a soldier of the words using the polychromic vestments of illusions provoking me, confessing till I'm pouring down amazing, for I hate you so much as I miss you

in the canyon of sentiments, music conquers you through genus of its species as if she is the one which is listening to you…

would you, could you be mine, an incognito rendezvous, the one of the most beautiful and anonymously kind just to kill this fatigued ennui… promise I'll be a whisper if you'll be a gleam of fantasy, as if you've been wished me to say, — wish you would

i'm that kind of moonstruck by your quest, i even learned fast how to talk with myself keeping silently all of my spirited thoughts  spelled by letters of an imaginary alphabet out of a story more unreal than any unreal supported in the conjuncture of dreams' ink with the coffee taste, slowly slow savored, in music travestied, in addiction extended by a subtle thing... so smoothly teleported