I'm surrounded by people that sneer the real love, that they don't know. The kind of true love, everlasting and that makes us ridiculously slaves... Thralls of everything... Of ideals, of prospects, of delusions and even of figures...
And  blessed all of them, that don't know the boundless nooks of this thick and thorough petroleum... Clinging and sublime...

Love, Affection, Fondness... What are you? Why you're such?
Perhaps
I know the answers and my questions aren't these. I would say instead, What lurks in the intensity of those green
and luminescent emeralds... Those wonderful windows that I
can't observe for long...

I purloin the seconds
to the tense, for allow that I stray sinlessly and unconsciously in those
vast voids that are nevertheless so brimful... They're packed. Two explosions of... Of... Of...? Of amazement, not. Of
sheer perfection...
An unconscious and fatal excellence, though for only one person.

Alas... As can be incredible our being. Overly manifold and over mere to the same time... Made of whole and of nothing...
But it's late and if I start to talk about that... Well, tomorrow I will be too weary to
can succumb afresh to the
green elixir of the love whereby I live.