Some things you just love,
and you love to love them:
prevalent fresh breath with a strawberry finish,
pleasant aldehydes.

Some looks just burn,
and, aflame, they guide you:
a corroded car on the highway,
where now fungi grow, nurturing a flower.

Some roads are detested,
and so, they face no suppression:
never saying hello to the acquaintance.

Some arms rise to the skies,
dreaming of affection.
Bubble gum blows into the palm of your hand.

Some hearts leave space
for opening and staying,
while other hearts hesitate,
knowing the price of paying.
Slightly opened doors have a habit of opening wider,
letting the cold in.