Warmingly, on my face as a mother's forgiving babbling, you ran like a swan wing with your caressing, artistic, vulnerable hand: Many times you thought you were sick of not giving yourself up like the secret maximalist notable mark: You spun! And you have crushed your vulnerable glass beads in your eyes for your pain!

But you were strong, responsible then; you kept constantly reviving the wandering flames of the tear of my urge of despair: "Don't give it to me just for once!" "Your tiny, kind hand soon, minute by minute, dispelled the clouds of my pessimism from my head." - comfortingly

you could only babysit. As an encouragement, you promised your eternal friendship as a gift - I should have protected the palm thread of your destiny on your ruddy network of reddish veins, with the kisses of hero-lovers in a timid and silly way,

that the budding minute in which the fused infinity of the two of us was fulfilled should be eternal! The sword-hand of the Adonis — seems to have preceded consciousness, hidden in the alarm bells of heartbeats. Immersed in your impatience with your fleshy fruit tongue, in the bombardant selfishness of kisses. But did you learn anything from the Silence that made you

and was your person imbued with a breath of air, sure of air? "Now, in preparation for the heat, goblets of flowers are stretching in more and more unbridled fields."

Around the round, the golden sunlight greets the delicate nature with superstitious flows of honey - Who is babusgat, beware, protect your little hand? Where have foggy, nightmarish dreams and the belief that the Graspable Reality is not just a dream - but, derailed rejection of opportunities! Now in whose hand shall I take thy kindness, your understanding and goodness.