It felt good. It felt good thinking about you slowly digging my neck deep with your tongue.
Thinking about you gazing deep into the ocean of my eyes and smiling upon my shoulder at the same time. It felt good thinking about you gradually waving your fingertips on the caramel upon my hair, telling me I'm beautiful. Thinking of you against my lips, smashing petal to petal.
It felt good.
The only thing that didn't feel good was,
the fact,
that I was thinking.
And only that.
:)

GIVE me women, wine, and *****
Untill I cry out "hold, enough!"
You may do so sans objection
Till the day of resurrection:
For, bless my beard, they aye shall be
My beloved Trinity.

It's the end of autumn. And I don't have your arms to call home. And we're soon going to say goodbye, I know. For ever.

Isn't it interesting that during autumn, everything is so majestically beautiful even when everything is dying?
But, you are going. And, 'we' are dying. And nothing is beautiful.

Trust me, it's the end of autumn.

Softly and gently, I swim him along
the frail whirlpool of a lie,
He visits like a lamp in the froth of cold
forward towards but shy

I remember to keep my palm onto the cold night's sheet
and tell him how his would fit in,
how every moment of my cold nights would burn
into the arms of his unconscious sin

I canst remember thy face though,
o love, was the dust of snow much.?

Swaying like a leaf in the wind of my poem
skimming on the foam of an immortal stream,
with his perfect structured fingers touching his evening cup,
he flutters like a laugh from the lips of a weeping dream.

A dream.
A DREAM.
O my.! Was this illusory?

Years of long closed eyelids imagining their perfect fit
The word exists the definition doesn't,
Dejection over fancies is dejecting
Perfection is straight where you find true love.

In that book
which is
My memory . . .
On the first page
That is the chapter when
I first met you
Appear the words . . .
Here begins a new life