The poet said:
I love your polychrome: your lips, those pearls that they enclose,your body, the ivory of your nails and those curls - that have my orbs oscillating, to-fro and to... I love the intense color of your words and your perfectly stroked silences. I want to be the zephyr that caresses you and observant power that lies enclosed around you!.I want clay to feel your hands on me, and to dye your brushes that have been poured out on you. I will be the oil for your tables and the role of your schemes. I want to be your archetype, I want to be me in you...
The Illusion replied:
One day soon I will make the most beautiful picture. Draw your face. Anyone who see it, will feel your voice and feel your breath, because I would have lost my life for me and I would live for you.
The poet said:
The piano's chequers , rose wooded furn, lights dimmed by a bright candle and you...Dressed in black,with cut side up to the waist, gleaming eyes- seeminly blue-black,yet emanating myriad rays of..love.. Me right there..and You, gliding towards me..A majestic walk..
Ah!, Love beyond words, it was..
Every half light hitting us hard...My right hand on your waist, your face next to mine, your breathing hectic in my neck... A two by four... An eight... Only One pulled out...
And there, a beautiful hook that makes me feel your aura between mine. The world spinning. The smoke from chandeliers, spreading along with incense. Our shadows on the wall wanting to merge into one. The smell of wine and "Angel", the aroma of women. Your lips soft, moist. Your eyes fixed on mine and the two lost in the delirium....
My hands down the closure of your raiment.. Your hands removing my guise... The two embraced dancing and plunged deeply into a loving candor and lethargy. Your kisses, kisses my hand ... Your hand caresses the intrepidities, mine, yours.
Gem, sighing. Our bodies bathed in wine and night with full moon adorning his loving and our time. JADE, hearts and troubled giant. Sweat ...
Just kissing, hugging, caressing ...
The Illusion replied:
I dance with my girl
Final perdition. As she founded. I am confused.
Her hip, my hand, feverish flutter. Butterflies.
Fire sacred. Enclosure. Overwhelmed by my column.
Water… my sweat.
My effluvium. A decline furious. Mitigate thirst.
Air and armour wheezing. My hair flies… And the smoke of candles.
My eyes lie, contact placid, accurate.
Volcanic explosion.
Irredeemably mad!
Cheek to cheek.
Our mouths crazy, We eat music.
Bodies entangled.
Mystic merger.
Recessionary in the measure of time.
Music, dance, wine, word exquisite.
Alas!,atlast We Succumb.
I do not know anything about me, I am lost.
I delivered.
Sweet possession
The poet said:
Tones of violins, castanets, harp and the environment in a gentle breeze along lushes of the suite..You right there..and me there too..writing poems, our silhouttes flutter and so does my pen..up to down and down to sky...drawing you to me and drawing us on it..
Your inspiration flies- Turning my fluxes into a cascade of beautiful orbs.. that run over and invade my brain and put me to navigate the river flow of your creation.
The illusion said:
What!!
I'm fascinated!
In each paragraph that the genius of traveling encounter your thinking.
Your forge generates ever more precious to me and golds and stroke my skin.
How strange this miracle!
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