The word, the same word you often whisper,
Takes me where sweet dreams murmur,
Analyzed all in the heart, I eagerly listen,
And thoughts of pleasant days never lessen,
And pulses of warm sighs in mind glisten,
Swifter than passionate stormy guesses,
Haunted by the joy the heart never misses,
I think of you, my tender heart and mind,
My love and friend and best my soul can find.
I have, at a gentle time, your beauty received,
Brave and charmed, my soul adored you,
In every temper following your fragrance clue,
To each born hour, wherever I can view
Your beauty aging, passing years on bare feet,
No other sight can ever have more delightful beat,
In my chest, throbs of kindled sensation on fire,
Unchanging ardor mingles with your own desire.

Love is no longer a warm room
It’s more of a fridge.
Once hot and steamy
Now cold and wet.

Some might say
That, love is, just an emotion
A chemical process
A biological fact

And… They’re right
However, to us
It is so much more
And so less

Love can be higher than life
The light in a never-ending tunnel
The fire in a sealed jar
The warmth in a concrete cell

Love is hearing your name through her voice
It’s knowing the truth and being happy with it
The inspiring feeling, pushing you further and further
It’s the silence in your head, because it’s too busy with thinking about her

To us
Love is
More than
A feeling

The setting sun reaches out to me,
earnestly stretching to cup my face.
I shrink back from its warmth, cold as I am.
The sun is beautiful, warm, comforting.
And yet, it is too far away; the comfort is an illusion.
The cold seeps in me, weighing on my bones and making me slow.
I long for that warmth, my face turns almost automatically to the sun,
wishing it closer, warmer, stronger, anything.
The cold is spreading through, settling in my heart,
claiming my body, my mind.
And here I am again, stuck, cold, tired.

We are watching the clouds
bandage an incarnadine sky,

we are practicing our best knots,
weaving an army of tourniquets,

we are slow-dancing
barefoot on the edge
of a razor.

We are watching
a demolition derby
in the driving rain,

the smell of motor oil
mixing with gasoline,

the hard melancholy
of dying machines.

We are waltzing from room to room,
smearing our names on the floor,

we are keeping time to slow music,
bleeding out behind closed doors.

I'm an admirer of the night sky
chatting each time if I have free time
spell my dreams
wiggle the index finger in the sky

the sound of the wind evokes conscience
my dream wants to come true soon
moon plays its role
gives a big point of light
a lovely light in the dark
I 'll try to be brave
more bold than ever