A certain romantic light plays with my senses the way liquid streets uproot steps random in their dances! I love it when we smile in lamp-light seconds! I can always desire you in temporary trances. A poet at work is like when love strikes with lances! You calm me in your green meadow romances. I ask of you, introduce me to the fire of your glances. At times I need to sleep with the integrity of historical stances. I will remain myself however lonely in miles or milliseconds. To make a lover out of life is to ask the moon for a dance. Whether or not she refuses I will continue to love our chances.