Locked your face in my glance are buds of flowers moistened by the sun. I want on me your soul, all what you are, the thoughts you have. Your voice as fingers on the skin-

touch lightly points which make me to bend, to invoke to have your name on tongue in every instant, the beauty, and the music; shake the heart, sleep inside his interior, colour the white spaces, in fitted

are waiting for you-are oxygen, the air I have between the hair, in the lungs.

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