You
You
You
The wind is shaking the purple leaves. Moving the blossoms of the night.
Trembling is my pulsing blood. My refined face growing pale. My mind a symbolic value floating on the blue clouds chasing themselves.
I rest under the goddess tree that bows over my cheekbone. Whispering in comedy into my ears.
Howl that the will taste on the tongue of you. My precious secret discerning the frail adornment when flowers grow in the morning spring.
Above a dazzling light keenly alive. A cap on my head full of pressure.
That was made for me to bear in lightening my lust and delight. Arouse your awakening passion growing with seed.
When the flowers grow in the morning spring. The wind is shaking the purple leaves. Moving the blossoms of the night.
The wind is shaking the purple leaves.
You
You
