a dream… from the peak of my thoughts, without any permutations or influences, contoured the décolletage of my dawn animatedly and at the present continuum, its gently drops like an impetuous waterfall come undone on my architected silhouette

You love me so much that even your dream it dreams of me fictionalizing a minor acute of your philosophy pampered paradoxically with the structural capacity of your longings while the art of November rain with desires