I, who loved to please the ladies with complimenting masses of poems and to please the ladies: To increase the heartbeat pumping more and more, to smuggle out the eyes soaked with pearls silently, to hand out the real truth with a handkerchief - I was acne, , polite hand kisses as royal majesties come out!

And it went without saying that they were thrown away sooner and thrown in the trash as a custom of barely used clothes! I was a foolish, hamster-like ***** infected with a non-liberating but hopeless romance, if I had explored the eternal, never-ending secrets of my sweetheart's heart with the ancient sins of passionate obsession!

And I became an idyllic arrogance, a purple pregnant woman with beautiful hope, Kilimadjaro, a pulsating, shameful pimple, which in itself postponed the possible outbreak! Taking care of my life, I put it together I imagined. And the healthy, eternal plans of my mortality are sometimes ugly mocked by the tiny molecules of detail, the incomprehensible or incomprehensible intentional whole!

A confession of love, edited into stanza, is going on today: Both are integral parts of mortal passing! Yet how many wasted, expensive preparations, wording, kneeling sacrifices like dumplings of humility in the throat, and the trembling of trembling, operated knees, had to be added to fall to the surface of the simple fact, to actually show up: while gently nurturing and binding the bleeding wounded heart: A sensual, purple flame flirting with the immortal Universe